An Inevitable Conclusion
by halfasblind
Summary: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV. Post-"Journey".
1. I'll Take You On

**Title**: An Inevitable Conclusion  
**Characters/Pairing**: Jesse/Rachel  
**Disclaimer**: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Post-"Journey"  
**Summary**: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.  
**Notes**: I know the summary leaves a lot to be desired, but I thought it was the one line that pretty much summed up where the story is headed as a whole. The first half of the series will deal with Jesse and Rachel overcoming their problems and reconciling and will be chock full of angst. The second part, however, will focus on Jesse and Rachel settling into a relationship and maintaining one with Jesse in college and Rachel in her last year of school. It will be a little fluffier, but I want to deal with the lies and misunderstandings that started their relationship and led to their breakup and put them through hell basically before I put them in a happy place. The entire series will be from Jesse's perspective because I want to flush out his character. We'll meet his family and get into his head and see that his cockiness is merely a smokescreen. So I hope you give this fic a chance and like where it leads!

—

**01. I'll Take You On**

I'm apprehensive about Regionals. Not about the competition itself (Vocal Adrenaline's got it in the bag, after all), but there's Rachel to consider.

Rachel who smiles like her heart isn't breaking. Rachel who thinks my feelings for her were a well-acted lie. Rachel who doesn't know _the truth_.

The night after the egging, I laid in bed at home (mine, not my uncle's) and wondered how I could have let the feud between the two teams escalate to such a degree, destroying a relationship in the process. It would've ended eventually, but maybe it wouldn't have ended so _tragically_.

Though it's not fair to lay all the blame at Vocal Adrenaline's door—they weren't entirely to blame. Shelby had aided in the destruction of my relationship with Rachel as if she had been there tossing eggs with everyone else. In a way she was _worse_—taunting me with a future that I'd never have if I chose New Directions instead of Vocal Adrenaline…if I chose Rachel.

I could've fought harder for Rachel despite Shelby's indifference. I could've _fought_, period.

I thought about Rachel a lot during the two weeks that lapsed from the egging to the Regionals showdown. I thought about her short skirts and her funny shirts. I thought about the taste of her lips, the smell of her skin. I thought about how to defy Shelby and date her daughter wouldn't get me any closer to my dreams.

When I'd returned to Carmel I had to prove that I wanted to be there and egging Rachel had been my ticket back into the fold.

When Rachel told me to do it—break the egg like I broke her heart—I did it, because standing at the center of my teammates I just couldn't…_not_. I still don't know how I was able to turn and walk away when my heart was breaking, when all I wanted to do was stay there with Rachel—clean her off, pull her into my arms and tell her how much I love her (present tense, not past like I asserted in front of my teammates).

Somehow I get through "Bohemian Rhapsody," needing the win to proceed to Nationals—losing is not an option, not when I've lost so much already. I spot Rachel in the audience near the end of the performance. I try to resist the urge to look at her, but I do, just as the song nears its conclusion and she disappears out the double doors, looking as forlorn and dejected as I feel.

—

I don't see her again until we all gather onstage for the results. I'd heard that Quinn had gone into labor and the majority of New Directions had been back and forth to the hospital, Rachel included. A forbidden image blinds my vision of Rachel happily swollen with my child, my past sins forgiven, the future ours to make of it what we want. Then, Shelby steps beside me, snatching the vision away.

I catch Rachel's eye as the judges flood the stage, Sue Sylvester waving the results envelope with relish. Rachel flashes me a winsome smile, her confidence disarming in its splendor. It mystifies me for just a split second and I gape at her, pondering silently how I could've fucked up something so good, so badly.

Then Vocal Adrenaline is pronounced the winner and my excitement—_my relief_—outweighs my regret.

—

I'm standing in the lobby chatting with my teammates Marshall and Wesley (attempting to beg off the celebratory kegger they're planning) when I catch sight of Rachel hurrying by, glittering like a Christmas ornament in her gold dress. My eyes follow her to the door then my feet are in pursuit, moving after her of their own accord.

The warm wind slaps my face as I step outside and call out, "Rachel!"

The moment that she turns to face me, everything changes. Time slows to a crawl and proceeds in a leisurely motion. The rapid beating of my heart picks up speed, the swift tattoo somehow calming my frazzled nerves. I watch Rachel and she watches me, but for long minutes neither of us speaks.

Then Rachel starts to shake her head, the look on her face pleading, desperate. Her expression is so somber that I'm tempted to leave her alone and give her the space that she desires. But I can't. I just _can't_. "I need to talk to you. I need to…explain. Please, Rachel. Five minutes, that's all I'm asking for."

"No," she says softly.

"No?"

"No," she says again, this time more forcefully, her face a flurry of emotions. "You beat us, Jesse. You got _everything_ you wanted. The trophy. My mother. And my _heart_…which I always knew you'd break. Just…just take it all and leave me the hell alone."

It's there on the tip of my tongue, another plea…but I just can't do it. Not after seeing the disillusioned look on her face, the hopelessness in her eyes.

I watch her walk away and, in that moment, realize all that I've lost.

—

Los Angeles is a new start for me. I like being someplace where absolutely no one knows me, where nothing and no one is a constant reminder of the greatest mistake of my life.

I throw myself into my studies, into theatre, into the job I get working in an off-campus café. I don't date for awhile, but when I start, unfortunately, I see facets of Rachel in every girl I meet. The constant reminder of her is torturous, but after a time instead of trying so hard to move past her, I'm even more determined to find her in the girls I date, girls that know nothing of the lie that morphed into love.

—

I return to Lima for the summer, not sure whether I'm back for me or for Rachel. I do know that if it's Rachel I've come home for, it's gonna take a hell of a lot of groveling for her to even contemplate taking my sorry ass back. By the time I make it home, I've resolved not to return to UCLA without at least giving it a shot.

The first time I run into Rachel it's in the coffee shop where she's working. She makes it clear that she's moved past me, delighting in her proclamation that she's dating Finn Hudson now. She flashes me a triumphant smile and storms away, refusing to serve me.

As another waitress comes to take my order, apologizing for Rachel's theatrics, I cannot take my eyes off of her. I note that her happiness is a cheap imitation—if not a total fabrication—for my benefit, her beatific smile having already fallen from her face as she rounds the counter to fill her orders. I wonder why—why the pretense? Is she not happy with Finn? And if she's not, why lie about it?

Regardless, her smile isn't as genuine as it was when _we_ were together.

As I sit at my table and sip my coffee, I can't help but watch her, wondering if Finn believes in her talent as fervently as I did…as I still do. Because even though we are no longer together, I know that Rachel is going to be a star, it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does.

—

For a week I loiter at the coffee shop during Rachel's shifts. I go to pick up coffee…and then I just don't leave—I _can't_ leave. Somehow I endure the scowls, the mumbled name-calling and her smacking me callously with her tray in passing. It's a small price to pay just to be in the same room with her.

I blatantly flirt with whichever waitress is serving me, striking Rachel's ire, but rather enjoying her spiteful glares. Knowing that I can still get under her skin gives me hope that she's not as impervious to me as she would like me to believe.

—

With her purse draped over her shoulder and a pinched look on her face, Rachel stops at my table one afternoon, demanding, "What do you think you are doing, Jesse?"

I continue to leaf through my newspaper, taking a keen interest in the want ads—that is, until she snatches the paper away, deftly dodging my attempts to retrieve it, tucking it under her arm, out of my reach. Finally I declare defeat that I'm not getting my paper back and snap, "I _was_ reading the paper. I'll have you know you're interfering with my job search."

She eyes me skeptically. "I don't believe you."

"That's your prerogative," I say, though she's got every right to question everything I say. Though, I'm not _technically_ looking to acquire a job, she doesn't know that. It may come to that if I decide to stick around Lima longer than the summer.

"What do you want, Jesse?"

"I don't want anything. I mean, except for the coffee," I say, scooping up my cup to prove my point, frowning upon finding it empty. I set it back down on the table and push it aside, glancing around for Elizabeth, my attentive waitress. Unfortunately, she's nowhere to be found.

As if at a loss for words, she blurts out, "I'm dating Finn," as if feeling the need to stab the fact into my brain. I may possess a litany of characters flaws, but being short of memory isn't one of them.

"Yes, so you've told me," I say, annoyed with the edge I hear in my own voice.

"Besides we're over."

I smirk up at her. She's standing _awfully close_ for someone she's claimed to be over. I keep that little notion to myself—after all, she's close enough that if she were to get physical, it would hurt like a motherfucker. "Are we, Rachel? Are we _really_?"

I slide out of my booth abruptly, making Rachel retreat a couple of steps. I drop a couple bills on the table for Elizabeth, then give Rachel one last lingering look before I leave the coffee shop, feeling her eyes follow me all the way to my car.

—

To take my mind off of Rachel, I accept an invitation to hang out with some of the guys I graduated with, a couple of them who were my teammates on Vocal Adrenaline. After dinner and bowling, we wind up in a club downtown that now hosts karaoke on Saturdays.

The last thing I want to do is sing, but we all sign up anyway. As I'm sifting through the catalog of music, a familiar voice fills my ears. For a moment I think I'm hearing things, that my mind is playing tricks on me, but when my eyes snap to the stage, sure enough, there is Rachel, amid a single spotlight, her voice sifting through the darkened room like a lover's caress.

She's singing "Time Heals Everything" from _Mack & Mabel_ and I wonder at her choice of song, if our relationship prompted this selection.

I watch her throughout the song and, likewise, feel my friends watching me. Marshall is the only one I've confided in about my lingering feelings for Rachel. He doesn't understand why I would want to date just one girl, but then again he's never tried to be monogamous. I suddenly wish I'd had the chance to introduce him to Rachel; she would've taken him down a peg or two. I smile to myself, imagining the set down Rachel would have given him, how much she would object to his carefree lifestyle. Maybe there's still a chance for that to happen.

As the last lyrics fall from her lips—_time heals everything but loving you_—our eyes meet in the crowd. I keep my eyes trained on her as she bows through a roundhouse of applause and hurries from the stage, glancing back at me from over her shoulder as she rejoins a group of girls, none of whom I recognize.

I can't help but laugh as Marshall bellows, "How are we supposed to go on after _that_? We're gonna get booed off the stage!" I can't believe that a former member of Vocal Adrenaline can be so pessimistic; then again we were always leery of Rachel's talent, her being the offspring of our own choir director.

As the other guys assure Marshall that they can still carry a tune, I search the crowd for Rachel, but find that she, along with the group of girls, are gone.

—

In an effort to escape my harridan of a mother (who's on a quest to set me up with her tennis instructor's daughter) I take refuge on the back porch with my coffee, completely forgoing breakfast. My parents aren't especially attentive, but when they show me any attention whatsoever it's to a smothering degree. Besides trying to ingratiate myself back into Rachel's good graces is enough of a chore without trying to date, too.

When my phone rings I pull it out of my pocket, expecting it to be my Uncle Patrick (who's been yearning for my company since my return from school) or Marshall even, so I'm pleasantly surprised to see Rachel's name illuminating the screen. I nearly answer it, but send the call to voice mail instead and make _her_ wait for once. "Let's see how you like it," I mutter aloud, listening to the ring quiet, with no beep to alert me of an awaiting message.

She calls back twice more and I feel compelled to answer, knowing how relentless Rachel can be. But I'm also curious as to why she's calling. Why now. "Hi, Rachel," I answer with apprehension.

"You didn't call me back," she says, by way of greeting.

"To be fair, you didn't give me the chance." I pause, adding, "You didn't give me the chance for a lot of things."

"Jesse, I don't understand any of this. Do you relish breaking me or something? Because that's what you did—you broke me."

Hearing her say it so bluntly…I'm not prepared for it. It was a confirmation that I didn't need, but received anyway—and it gives me the chance for repentance. "I'm sorry," I manage with a heartfelt whisper that is anything but manufactured. "I'm so sorry, Rach, I never wanted to break you. That was never my intention."

For a long moment she's quiet and I can hear her trying to keep her sniffles quiet, but I hear them anyway. Knowing that she's crying over me, over the pain and misery that I caused her makes me feel like a world class jerk. But at least I'm a jerk that wants to right my wrong. I'm _trying_.

"Can I ask you a question? Something's been bugging me a long time and I'd like an answer."

"You can ask me anything, Rachel."

She pauses for a long moment before she asks, "Why did you say it?"

I know she's referring to the three little words that I said prior to pelting her with the egg. I still don't know why I chose that particular moment to disclose my feelings—they had simply just come pouring out, surprising my teammates as well as myself.

Sometimes, I thought the reason I wanted Rachel as strongly as did was because Shelby told me that I couldn't have her. I had been denied the one thing I didn't even know I wanted until I was told I couldn't have it—that fucks with the psyche. But I quickly dispelled that as nonsense.

Over the past few months I've examined my feelings for Rachel and they run far deeper than a simple desire to have something I was previously told wasn't mine to have. I want her and my heart is determined to have her.

"Rachel, you have to know that what I said…I meant those words. They weren't meant to be vindictive or cause you pain. I did love you." I _do_ love you. The words are on the tip end of my tongue to say, but I bite them back, knowing that Rachel no longer feels the same way. What's more, I don't think I can bear to say them again without her responding in kind.

"That doesn't help at all, Jesse," she cries.

I can't listen to her cry. If I have to listen to her sobs, I'll do something stupid, or worse…_say_ something stupid, something that I can't take back. "Rach, can I see you? Can we talk in person?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

She is right, of course, but I can't have this conversation over the phone. I have to see her face when she tells me that she can't ever forgive me, that there's no hope for us. "C'mon, Rach. _Please_."

She sighs, a breathy little sound that I remember well. The noise would vibrate in my ears just before she asked me to kiss her, hold her, _touch_ her. _God_. I don't know if I'm strong enough for this. I don't know if I can handle her rejection.

"I'm in my car outside," she says after a long, silent minute.

"Outside my house?" I ask stupidly.

"Yes."

"Hold on, I'm coming." I end the call and set my empty coffee cup on the table, nearly sprinting in my haste to get to Rachel. I walk to the gate and push it open, spotting her car in the horseshoe driveway. Her eyes are trained on the front door so she doesn't see me coming from the opposite direction—she lets out a screech when I rap on the window.

"You scared me," she declares as she steps out of the car.

"Sorry. I was out back," I explain, slamming her car door for her as I take in her appearance, the pencil skirt and flouncy pink blouse. She looks good, conservative. Fancy. "You look nice."

She looks down at herself, then up at me, smiling faintly. "Thank you. I had an interview."

"For what?" I ask, interested.

She doesn't answer me directly, instead snapping, "Please don't pretend like you care."

I'm somewhat disconcerted by the bite to her words, the insinuation that I don't care. "I do care," I insist, though the words are hollow in light of my past actions, my previous string of lies.

"That's even worse than pretending that you do," Rachel says, astounding me with her reasoning. She walks a few steps away, squinting against the bright late morning sun. I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head as she weighs her next words, keeping her back to me as she begins to speak. "Everything was so simple before you came back, you know. Most of the time I didn't even think about you. I could go to the library, sit at the piano and not remember how we were. I could pretend that it didn't hurt anymore…that I was happy. And now…"

"And now?" I prod breathlessly on the heels of her implication that I've sent her life into a tailspin with my reappearance, with my renewed interest.

"Now everything's so…muddled."

Rachel looks back at me and I avert my eyes so that she doesn't know I was watching her with so much intent as she spoke, gauging her every nuance, each flutter of her hands. I don't look away quickly enough and notice there are tears in her eyes, her makeup a veritable mess on her face. "What are you saying, Rachel?" I ask, reaching forward to smooth away a tear with a brush of my thumb against her cheek.

"That you being here—back in town—it's confusing, Jesse. I still don't understand what happened between us, what went so wrong…"

"There are things I need to tell you, Rach...things I should've told you a long time ago..."

"Not today. Not now. I can't do it."

"Okay," I say because I don't know what else there is _to_ say. I don't know what this means and I can see how tenuous the situation is not to question it too forcefully.

"I hated you for a very long time, Jesse. Part of me still does. But I still…it's hard for me to tell you to get out of my life forever."

I expected different words, an entirely different outcome than the one that has just played out…but this I'll take without argument. "I never wanted things to end the way they did, Rachel. I want you to believe that."

She smiles and nods. "I've wanted to believe that."

"So why can't you?"

"Because how can I trust anything you say? For all I know I'm merely an amusement for you, a toy for you to roll out when nothing else interests you."

I take two steps backward, distancing myself from her. "Do you really believe that?" I ask, mildly irritated that she thinks that I can treat her so carelessly again.

"Honestly, Jesse, I don't know what to believe."

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know," I say, turning on my heel and returning to the house, leaving Rachel standing in my driveway with her confusion and disbelief.


	2. Counting Every Minute

**Title**: An Inevitable Conclusion  
**Characters/Pairing**: Jesse/Rachel  
**Disclaimer**: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Post-"Journey"  
**Summary**: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.

—

**02. Counting Every Minute**

"Who was that?"

I stop dead in my tracks upon hearing my mother's inquiry as I step into the house, the slamming of the door echoing in my ears as I turn to face her. She's standing by the window, the sheer drapes pulled back, her eyes trained on the driveway outside.

For a moment I think about just brushing her off and not answering (it isn't her business anyway) but my silence will just make her all the more curious. Answering her questions now will prevent further ones from arising. I keep it simple and tell her, "A friend." It somewhat resembles the truth.

She lets the drapes fall as she turns away from the window with a nod, clearly not buying my story. "It didn't like just two friends, the way you were looking at her."

I glare at my mother incredulously; after all she's never been one to take much interest in my personal life. I dated Haylee for over a year and she didn't seem to give a damn. Then again, I'd always make sure Haylee was scarce whenever my parents were around. I didn't want to answer questions or go through the agonizing introduction process. "You were _spying_ on me?" I accuse in an effort to divert this conversation onto her and off of myself.

My mother bristles at the accusation, tossing her meticulously coiffed hair over her shoulder. "I was _not_ spying. I was simply stepping outside to check the mail and saw that you had company. I easily discerned that it was a private conversation so I quickly stepped back into the house and gave you your privacy."

"Did you hear anything?"

"From inside the house? My hearing is good, Jesse, but it's not _that_ good." My mother gives me an inquisitive look, the one I remember her giving my father before finding about his affair—questioning his every word and excuse with a quirk of her eyebrow and a knowing look in her brown eyes. "Is this…friend…of yours the one that prompted your move into Patrick's last year?"

I smile thinking about my uncle who was quick to take me under his room when I expressed the need to attend the high school in his zone to be closer to a girl. I should probably go visit the old man soon; after all, without his assistance I would have never gotten as close to Rachel had I remained at Carmel. I damn well wouldn't have fallen in love with her, either.

Focusing on my mother's question, I think about lying. I think about telling her to mind her own goddamn business, but instead I find myself saying, "Yes." I circle around her, crossing over to the window. I half expect to see Rachel's car still in the driveway, but she's gone.

"I wasn't aware that the two of you were still together, what with you graduating and going off to college..."

"We aren't," I say without thinking. I don't know why I'm telling my mother so much. Maybe I need to talk to someone. God knows I can't talk to Marshall. As confidantes go, he's completely useless. "Things are…complicated," I add, telling her even more.

"So uncomplicate them," my mother suggests smoothly.

If only it were that simple. If only my apologies were enough. "I can't—it's my fault they're complicated."

She touches my shoulder, urging me around, and touches my face, her hand cupping my cheek gingerly. It's a motherly gesture that I haven't realized I've missed until this moment. "Jesse, I love you, but you're so much like your father." I despise the comparison, but I've come to accept it. "Our marriage almost didn't survive because of his stupidity, because of his pride. If you care about this girl, do whatever you can to set things to rights."

I expel a deep breath. "Mom, I wish it were enough for me to apologize, but it's not."

"Good gracious, Jesse, what did you do?" she bellows, clearly losing her patience with my vague answers.

I run my fingers through my hair, refusing to go into this further with my mother. If I really want to be honest, part of me just doesn't want to tell her what I've done and see the disappointment in her eyes. My parents may not be the most dutiful, but I've never given them cause to be disappointed. I'm not about to start, telling them of the plan I hatched with a woman that they esteemed, that they considered a friend.

"Can we not talk about this?" I say, walking away.

"I'm just trying to help."

I face her once more. "And I appreciate it, I do, but this is something I have to work through myself."

"Well, I'm here if you need to talk."

I smile at her offer, biting back the cutting remark that hovers on the tip end of my tongue. The retort would only prolong this conversation and I'm eager to retreat to my room to clear my head. So I nod, knowing that it was merely a polite, motherly thing to do and she has no intention of keeping her promise. I doubt I could endure this a second time anyway.

—

I've come to accept Rachel's mistrust of my motives in view of our past—the way we started, the way we ended and the bevy of lies I strung together in between. I knew it wouldn't be easy to get her back, but I just didn't think it'd be this hard, that my every word, my every action would be questioned and put under a microscope. Though I deserve her mistrust, I don't have to like it.

I keep my distance, giving her time to sort out her confusion, the feelings for me that are as unwelcome to her as a flesh-eating disease. That means staying as far away from the coffee shop and the library and _anywhere_ that Rachel is known to frequent.

For a few days, I'm perfectly fine staying home and laying low. Though, with my parents still a couple of weeks away from their month-long stay in the Hamptons, I confine myself to avoid my mother's incessant inquiries regarding my "complicated relationship". I busy myself watching TV, playing the Wii and buying a shitload of sheet music off of Amazon.

This morning I was sifting through James Taylor's sheet music when my mother commented on my perfection of the couch potato routine and jotted down the number for her psychologist on her way out the door for Pilates.

Not wanting to be around in case the revered Dr. Bergman makes a house call and in desperate need of a respite from the house, from the walls that threaten to cave in on me, I throw on a pair of shorts, grab my keys and make a beeline for the door. I pull it open to find Rachel Berry standing on the stoop, her hand poised to knock.

"Hi," she says awkwardly.

"Hey."

"Are you leaving?" she asks, noting the keys in my hand.

I push them into my pocket and say, "I guess it can wait."

She shrugs and thrusts a Styrofoam to-go cup with her coffee shop's logo emblazoned on the side into my hand. "Can I come in?" she asks, breezing past me without waiting for my acquiescence.

I smile at her audacity and push the door closed, hoping that she isn't here to drag my heart through the mud a little bit more.

When I remain silent, Rachel begins to fill the overwhelming quiet with insane chatter. "You haven't been to the coffee shop to get it yourself so I figured I'd bring you a cup. I'm sure you have a coffee pot yourself and can make your own and not spend the abhorrent $5.95, but well…I know you like the caramel macchiato," she says in a rush, pointing to the coffee in my hand.

I stare down at the cup in my hand, wondering if it's the peace offering that I think it is…that I hope it is. "Rachel, what are you doing here?" I ask, ignoring her long-winded speech about coffee.

She fidgets nervously, looking everywhere but at me in the minutes that follow. At the domed ceiling above our heads. At the closed front door behind us. At the framed family portrait taken when I was twelve that hangs above the fireplace mantle.

Then finally Rachel's eyes are back on mine, saying, "I hurt your feelings the last time I was here. I'm so—"

I cut in before she can apologize. "So you said something that I didn't like." I shrug. "At least you didn't crack an egg on my head," I say, smiling regardless of the outcome of our last encounter, how I had stomped away like a temperamental child. It was not my proudest moment.

Rachel tries to resist smiling in return, but I see the grin split her face. "Oh, I shouldn't be smiling. That was _humiliating_."

"I know." I set the coffee down on an end table and take the two steps needed to put me in front of Rachel, lifting her chin so that she's looking directly up at me. "You have no idea how much I regret what Vocal Adrenaline did…what _I_ did. Words cannot express how much I regret that day." _And everyday after_, I nearly add.

"I did tell you to do it."

"Yes, but I didn't _have_ to do it."

She nods in understanding, but reminds me, "They would have crucified you, Jesse. We both know it. You took one for the team—I understood that. I wouldn't have reacted any differently."

I know she's right, of course, so I can't argue. "Can you forgive me, Rach…for doing that to you?"

She sighs, her nod nearly imperceptible. "I was more upset by what you said than what you did," she says quietly and I'm overcome by even more guilt.

To be honest, I don't even know why I did it, why I told her I loved her. I think it was because on some level I had wanted her to know, however slightly, that she meant more to me. Then I fucked that all up when I cracked the egg on her head. After that, there's no way she believes that I was sincere. "I feel like all I ever do is tell you I'm sorry."

"You have a lot to be sorry for," she says and she's not wrong. I do have a lot to be sorry for—more than she knows at this point in time.

I take her by the hand, telling her, "Come with me." I lead her into the kitchen, dropping her hand while I walk to the refrigerator and extract the carton of eggs that my mother bought on her grocery run a couple of days before. Carrying them to where Rachel is standing looking a little anxious…I hold them out to her.

"What do you want me to do with those?" she demands, staring at them aghast, searching my face for my motive.

"Retribution," I tell her, lifting the flap. "Go on," I urge, pushing the full dozen toward her.

She shakes her head and retreats a step. "I am not going to crack an egg on your head." She sounds almost appalled with the idea. I don't blame her—the practice _is_ appalling, but I'm willing to do anything to level the playing field, to get us back on even ground…to get her to look at me like she used to.

"Why not?...I cracked one on your head," I point out frankly. "Vocal Adrenaline turned you into a goddamn omelet. Haven't you always wanted to get back at them…back at me?"

I watch Rachel debate the words, making her decision after a few seconds of silent contemplation. Slowly, she sets her purse on the countertop, slips an egg from the carton and wraps her fingers around it. I can tell she's uneasy with what she's about to do, but then all hesitation leaves her face as she takes on a smashing stance.

"Do it," I say, stealing her words, the enormity of them weighing heavily on my heart. "Break it like you broke my heart."

"That was my line," she whispers before she takes a fortifying breath, rears her arm back…and crushes the egg atop my head.

We both freeze, Rachel's hand falling away from my head slowly, only to make a torturous detour down the side of my face, lightly caressing before dropping to my shoulder.

I don't know how long we stand like that, embraced, as the yoke seeps into my hair and begins to run down my face. It doesn't even matter at this point. I just know that I can't step away from her. I lift my hand and touch her face leisurely, stroking her cheek in a gentle sweep. I hold in a ragged breath as Rachel turns her face into my palm.

"What you're thinking…it's a bad, _bad_ idea…" she whispers, though clearly I'm not the only one with the bad, bad thoughts.

"It wouldn't be my first one," I murmur truthfully before taking a step back from her, though it pains me to do so. After all, Rachel has a boyfriend and I haven't yet revealed my myriad of sins. I reach behind me into a drawer for a towel and start to clean myself off. Rachel offers her assistance, but I shake my head, not needing her near to tempt fate once again.

"I should go," Rachel says abruptly, turning away from me, plucking her purse off the counter.

I don't want her to go. Not yet. "Wait," I say, grasping her hand furtively. "Stay."

She shakes her head, looking down at our joined hands. "I can't…I shouldn't."

"Why shouldn't you?" I ask just to be difficult.

"There are so many reasons…"

"Like…?"

"Like I have a boyfriend." At the mention of Finn I realize that she hasn't mentioned him in our last couple of encounters. I can't help but wonder if she's really dating him or she lied to me in an effort to make me jealous. If it's the latter, it certainly worked since thinking of her with _him_ drives me absolutely crazy.

"Okay, so I won't propose."

Rachel isn't amused. "Jesse, I'm being serious."

"So am I, Rachel. You're here now…what's a little while longer going to matter?"

—

In the end I wasn't able to convince her to stay—Finn chose that moment to call, Rachel bolting out the door as if she was on fire. But the egging in my kitchen seems to have softened her toward me. Now whenever I go into the coffee shop she doesn't scowl and roll her eyes; instead she smiles and winks. Sometimes, she even waits on me.

We're sitting in a booth talking inanely about _So You Think You Can Dance_and sharing a blueberry muffin when _he_ walks in, hovering over us with a steely glower that does not intimidate me like I'm sure it's supposed to.

"Finn!" Rachel says, casting an anxious look from me to him. She surprises me when she does not jump out of her seat with a ready list of excuses to appease Finn's fractured ego.

"So, you blew me off for him?" he says, directing an accusing finger at me.

I open my mouth to jump to Rachel's defense, but she beats me to it. "Finn, it's not like that…" Rachel explains, flashing me a beseeching look. She'd told me when I'd arrived that she'd chosen to work instead of tagging along on a Hudson-Hummel family outing. (I can't say I blame her for choosing to work.)

"It's just coffee," I tell Finn. After all, it's the truth. Aside from a couple of longing looks, we've done nothing wrong. He's Rachel's boyfriend and I refuse to be the cause for her relationship ending. I don't desire to be her rebound, either.

"No, it's not just coffee," Finn spouts, his voice getting louder and louder. "It's secret text messages and it's Sunday matinees…and it's _you_ being back here." Before I can question what that statement is meant to imply, his eyes are back on Rachel. "He and Vocal Adrenaline turned you into a scrambled egg, or have you forgotten?"

"I haven't forgotten."

"So you've forgiven him?"

"Not exactly…"

"She just got even," I interject, Rachel's eyes rolling up to the ceiling in exasperation.

It's evident as my words dawn on Finn that our relationship has progressed farther than texts and coffee shop conversation. I'm not quite as upset as I probably should be, especially considering that Rachel's relationship is now approaching the finish line. Finn glances from her to me, his face hard and emotionless.

"I've tried," he finally says, his eyes focused on Rachel, his voice softer, almost resigned. "I tried to be what you needed after what he did to you. I tried to understand." Finn laughs emptily. "Maybe you just didn't need me to understand. Maybe you just didn't need me at all."

I watch as a tear trickles down her cheek. I don't know whether it's due to the finality of Finn's words or the bittersweet note to them, but for some reason they touch Rachel's heart and cause her to start crying and I'm motionless to do anything. This is between the two of them, but it's too late for me to make my escape now.

"That's not true," Rachel insists.

Finn shakes his head, disagreeing fervently. "I think it is. I think I was just…filler. And I'm okay with that because we did have some good times. But it hasn't been beneath my notice that the last couple of weeks you've been…distant." Finn turns to me and inquires, "When did you get back into town?"

"The end of May," I answer automatically.

"Well. I have my answer, then."

I watch Rachel as she watches Finn leave the coffee shop. She doesn't say another word…she just slides out of her chair and disappears behind the door that says "Employees Only."

After fifteen minutes I make my leave, writing _Call me_ on the five-dollar bill that I leave as her tip, wondering as I walk to my car if she will, presuming that she won't.

—

She doesn't call me, of course. I don't call or text her, either, giving her space to work through whatever is happening with Finn—it's the least I can do for causing the problems in the first place. I'm not that choked up about my involvement, but Rachel seemed to be.

It leaves an odd weight on my chest thinking that she could choose Finn over me, even when he alluded to remaining feelings on her part, insinuating that she had never gotten over me at all.

I've replayed the confrontation in the coffee shop over and over in my head, dissecting Finn's every allusion, each insinuation. They don't give me any answers because they're his opinion—they're not fact. I won't know how Rachel feels or felt unless she tells me herself and she can't do that if she's no longer talking to me.

Annoyed with my silent phone and bored sitting in my room willing it to ring, I change into my swim trunks and head out to the pool in the backyard. I'm lounging in the water thinking about Rachel and, as if I conjure her from my private thoughts, I hear her voice. "I hope you're wearing SPF. You're starting to color."

I waft my hand through the water to turn my lounger around, peering at her through my dark sunglasses. She's wearing a denim skirt, a black tank top and matching flip-flops. "Hey stranger," I say casually, hoping to keep the melancholy out of my voice.

"I rang the bell and the cleaning lady said that you were out here."

"Met Rosie, did you?"

Rachel nods as she slips off her shoes and sits down at the edge of the pool. "She was not pleased with my arrival—she was in the middle of waxing the floor," she says, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She dips her feet into the pool as I paddle closer, near enough to touch her.

Rosie is hardcore about her waxing, I nearly tell Rachel, but instead I find myself saying, "It could have been worse…my mother could have answered the door." In front of Rachel now, I grasp the edge of the pool and swing myself upright, turning until I'm straddling the lounger and am nearly eyelevel with her.

"I don't think you're very fair to your mother. At least you have one."

I think about my mother, about the conversation we had last week—our first honest-to-God conversation in _years_. My mother definitely wouldn't win a mother of the year award, but she would never abandon me the way that Shelby did Rachel. She would never put her child's happiness in jeopardy over a damn trophy, either.

I make up my mind that it's time to tell Rachel, to tell her the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "Want to take a walk?" I find myself asking as I lever myself out of the pool. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

I hold a hand out to Rachel to help her to her feet, and then pluck the towel off the table I'd carelessly tossed there earlier, quickly drying off.

"What?" she asks curiously, watching as I pull my shirt back on.

I wave my hand for her to follow, showing her to the back gate that leads to the other four acres of land that my family owns. She steps through the gate, gasping at the vast lands that greet us as I close the gate behind us. I motion her toward the right, to the copse of trees that lead into the forest.

Rachel's a tad hesitant to follow, but she falls into step beside me anyway, both of us quiet and absorbed in thought, simply enjoying each other's company, unaware that our peaceful coexistence is about to be blown to Hell.


	3. Let the Truth Sting

**Title**: An Inevitable Conclusion  
**Characters/Pairing**: Jesse/Rachel  
**Disclaimer**: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Post-"Journey"  
**Summary**: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.

—

**03. Let the Truth Sting**

We walk in silence through the grass, our steps in sync, the wind tossing Rachel's hair around her face. Try as I might I can't find the words to tell her about Shelby, about my involvement, about why we really broke up. I know it's why I've led her out here, but I just can't bring myself to upset this serenity that has enveloped us both.

We quickly close the distance with long strides, the house a blurry mirage behind us. I think about putting it off a little longer, this truth-telling. I've waited a year, what's a day, a week, a month more. But hastily dispel the idea. I can't lie to Rachel anymore. I can't keep these secrets bottled up between us. They're eating me alive.

I was lying in my bed last night thinking about everything, staring blankly at the ceiling when my mother peeked in on her way to bed and inquired if things were alright…if I needed to talk. I was tempted to tell her, unload everything on her. She probably wouldn't have believed me. She and Shelby were great friends, having bonded over my mother's active involvement with the Boosters. I was never able to ask my mother if they still spoke now that Shelby is no longer the director of Vocal Adrenaline.

"I am sorry I didn't call or anything," Rachel says suddenly as we breach the forest, leaves cracking under our feet, the wind rustling through the trees.

I'm glad for the distraction from my thoughts. "You don't have to apologize. You had…stuff." I wonder if she talked things out with Finn, but I refuse to ask. Lucky for me, Rachel supplies the information readily.

After falling silent for a moment, she tells me, "It's over. Me and Finn, I mean."

I'm not sorry and to say so would only be another lie. I've got plenty in my arsenal to contend with and I don't need another, however harmless it is in comparison. So, I keep my opinion to myself, hoping that Rachel won't take offense to my silence.

Obviously, my participation is not needed, I realize ruefully as she forges on. "It was over a long time ago. We were just holding on to something that wasn't meant to be. After all, we tried so many times, crashing and burning each time. After so many it's not worth the effort, you know?"

I nod, knowing that it's a hypothetical question—an actual answer is not required.

"After you and I…well, after what happened, Finn swooped in to be my white knight. There was so much going in my head, so much fracturing in my life and there he was willing to hold me up, dust me off and make me new."

"How noble of him," I say, hoping Rachel doesn't notice the sarcastic note in my voice.

"He had good intentions," she says thoughtfully, more to herself than to me. Then, for reasons I don't understand, she tells me, "He said I love you the night of Regionals, right before we performed."

"Did you reciprocate?" I ask, feeling all the air whoosh out of my lungs as I await her answer. Part of me doesn't want to hear how she'll respond, but the other part—the hopeful part—_needs_ to know what she said. Not that it will change my feelings any. Rachel could tell me in the next five minutes that she's hopelessly in love with Finn and that she'll never love me and I will still spend the next ten, fifteen years carrying a torch for her, pondering what could have been…what may have been had I made a different choice, had we been given a chance.

Rachel shakes her head and I let out the breath I hadn't been aware I was holding. "No. I couldn't say anything. I didn't feel the same way. I was still numb from you telling me that you _loved_ me. It felt nice to hear it in another context. I think he did it to bolster my spirits before we performed. Just a few weeks before he was telling me he really liked me. It was too soon for like to morph into love."

I stare at her blankly, a thousand questions running through my head. What leaves my mouth is: "Why are you telling me this?"

Her smile is faint as she shrugs. "I just thought you'd like to know."

I lead her into the woods, veering right, holding her hand to help her past the overgrowth, and pointing out poisonous shrubbery for her to avoid brushing against. Down the well-traveled path we walk, Rachel curious to our destination, but unwilling to inquire to it. After five minutes of walking, we finally reach the little clearing that was my favorite place as a kid, my favorite summertime escape—the lake that adjoins with Mr. Wiltshire's property. The orange canoe is still tied to one side of the dock, the water tricycle to the other.

"This is beautiful," Rachel says, slipping off her flip-flops. She moves away from my side and crosses to the bank, stepping gingerly down the rocks until the water is lapping at her toes. She turns around to me, waving her hand, beckoning me to join her. I can't help but acquiesce, knowing that these may be our last remaining good moments for a while. Maybe ever.

"I always escaped here as a kid, even just to sit on the dock and stare at the clouds," I say, taking a cursory look around, remembering all the times I thought of Rachel here, wanting to show her this place, never believing that I would.

"Is this all yours?" she asks, motioning to the lake with her hand.

I shake my head, pointing out the house on the other side. "That's Mr. Wiltshire. His family owns the other half. You see the buoy?...That's the dividing point. I'm not even sure that's correct, but we've never argued the point."

Rachel looks over her shoulder as she inquires, "What's all the land for? That's what—three, four acres?"

"Four. My granddad purchased it for my parents as a wedding gift. He thought they'd have more kids and their kids would want to each have an acre of land to live on one day." I snort derisively. "What kid wants to live by their parents?"

Rachel frowns and I know that she doesn't share the sentiment; she's actually close to her parents. "Oh, I don't know…I don't think I'd mind living near my parents…were I to decide to stay in Lima."

"You were raised differently than I was Rachel," I point out, somehow succeeding in keeping that sliver of bitterness out of my voice.

"Jesse, just because your parents weren't as hands-on as mine does not make them bad parents," she says reasonably.

"No, it just makes them shitty parents," I say, making my way up the bank. When I realize that she's following, I stop and hold out my hand to help her navigate the rocks so that she doesn't fall and scrape her knees.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks once we're back on even ground.

"No."

"It might make you feel better."

I sigh, knowing that Rachel won't let up until she knows all my secrets. "I was a mistake, Rachel. My mother came down with the flu and her antibiotics impeded her birth control. My father was in his last year of graduate school and they just weren't ready for a baby."

"Oh."

I intend not to say anymore than that, but the rest comes spewing out anyway. "My mother attended Juilliard," I blurt out unexpectedly, Rachel's eyes widening at the admission. "She got her Bachelor of Music in piano. Her real passion was singing, though she lacked the talent."

"Is that why you joined glee club—to connect with your mother?"

I shake my head. "No, I started playing piano to connect with my mother. Glee came later…much later."

"Well, I don't understand why you and your mother…oh."

I see the recognition in Rachel's eyes the moment she pieces the puzzle together. "Easy to ascertain once you have the facts, isn't it?" I say with a little more acid in my voice than I anticipated.

"Jesse, I'm so sorry."

"She never said it aloud, but I knew she resented me for possessing the one thing that she coveted most. She never made it to one of my competitions and even though my father didn't either, for some reason his absence didn't bother me as much. I guess I expected her to care more because she was supposed to understand."

I feel Rachel's hand on my shoulder, reassuring and comforting. She lays her head on my back, her arms encircling my chest. The back hug is just what I need, the embrace setting me even more at ease than purging the words have.

"I'm glad you told me," she says, the words whispering against my neck.

I disengage her hands from around me, spinning around to face her. "I'm not always so pitiful," I say, stroking her hair, taking liberties that I know I shouldn't.

"I know you're not, Jesse, and it's really not healthy for you to keep all this aggression bottled up inside."

I grin down at her. Oh, I'm full of aggression, but it has nothing to do with my parents or their ambivalence toward me—it's all because of Rachel.

Keen to sway the conversation in a different direction (or at least away from my parents), I grab Rachel's hand and pull her toward the dock, the boards creaking and moaning under our feet. Stopping between the canoe and tricycle, I turn to Rachel and tell her, "Pick one."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Come on, Rachel. Do something daring."

She laughs, teasing, "I'm here with you, aren't I?"

"Come on. Pick one. It'll be fun, I promise," I urge. Surprisingly, she concedes with a point behind my shoulder. I laugh at the uncertain look she shoots me as I take her hand and pull her forward.

—

We spend an hour on the water tricycle, biking around the lake, talking of inane things as we joke around playfully. Twice, we push each other off into the water, Rachel taking immense joy in watching me fall from the bike with a huge splash. Once, we're so deep in conversation that I lose my balance in the seat. I'm nearly dry from my last dunking and Rachel's vain attempt to grab me to prevent another dip sends us both flying into the lake.

Now, we're sitting on the dock attempting to dry off from our water excursion. Then, Rachel remembers why we have journeyed out here in the first place. "So, what'd you have to tell me?" she asks in a singsong voice that threatens my resolve to come clean.

I'm kneeling down a few feet away, tightening the rope of the tricycle, making sure that it's taut enough to keep it secured to the dock. At her question, I stop what I'm doing and look at over at her. She's reclined, her hands braced behind her on the wooden planks, legs crossed at the ankles, appearing completely at ease. I hate to do anything to tarnish that...to see the smile fall from her face. However, I know that I can't put this off any longer. After all, it's why I brought her out here.

I give the rope another tight yank before abandoning it altogether. "Right. About that..."

Sensing the severity in my voice Rachel sits up, reaching out to touch my arm, inching closer to me. "Jesse, what is it? Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Normally I relish her closeness, but I can't be near her when I tell her what I've done. I have to distance myself from her or else I'll chicken out and tell her some edited version of the truth just to spare myself her censure. "I need you to listen, Rachel and know…know that I never meant any harm."

She gives me a wary look, but makes a show of shutting her mouth and settling in to listen.

I sit down a few feet away from her, dangling my legs over the side of the dock, my bare feet skimming the water. "I knew that Shelby was your mother," I start, delving right to the heart of the matter. "It's the reason we met; she wanted to meet you...she wanted you to find her."

I take a breath, realizing that I'm getting ahead of myself. I need to start at the very beginning, not at some random point in the middle. "Shelby had me stay after practice one day, she said that she had some new numbers in mind and she wanted my opinion on them. She had asked my opinion a couple of times before so I thought nothing was out of the ordinary. Then your name came up. She asked if I knew you. Of course I'd heard of you. It was impossible _not_ to have heard of you. You were the new big thing. The new smoking gun even though you were at a school that was inconsequential. Any show choir worth its salt was interested and worried. Even Vocal Adrenaline."

I smile, remembering how wary we were of Rachel after her performance of "Don't Rain on My Parade" at Sectionals. I was awestruck during her performance, unable to believe that this huge voice was coming out of this little wisp of a girl. I almost approached her after the show to point out her mistakes and give her a few points for improvement, but Shelby had forbidden me to do it, saying that I couldn't converse with the competition. The next week she made her proposal.

I pull myself out of my reverie, and continue. "Shelby wanted me to befriend you and ultimately lead you to her. She couldn't approach you herself because she'd be in breach of the contract your dads made her sign. It seemed harmless and good exercise for my future career as an actor..."

"I can't believe this..." Rachel murmurs.

I glance over at her, hating the betrayal I see shining in her eyes. I refuse to say I'm sorry...for meeting her, for ultimately falling in love with her. I will never apologize for those things. The rest though? The rest I regret deeply. Vehemently.

"You knew," she suddenly blurts out, understanding dawning. "You knew that Shelby was my mother when we started to look for her." She gasps, scrambling to her feet, driven by her intensifying anger. "The tape...it came from you, didn't it? She gave it to you to give to me."

I stand to face her as I fill in more blanks. "Shelby was putting pressure on me to return to Vocal Adrenaline. I was given a week to get you to listen to the tape. I knew afterward that I shouldn't have pushed so hard."

"No, you shouldn't have." She walks a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest. "How could I not have known? How could you not have told me? God, Jesse…_I trusted you_."

"What good would that have done, Rachel? Shelby would've pulled me back to Vocal Adrenaline so fast that it would've made both of our heads spin. I didn't say anything because I made the mistake of caring for you…something I was never supposed to do."

"You make caring for me sound so horrible."

"No, that's not it at all, and you know it. I wasn't prepared to like you. But it was just so easy to be myself with you because we wanted the same things, had the same interests. I never felt like one of Shelby's puppets when we were together. Being with you…it was natural. Easy. I felt more comfortable with you and New Directions than I ever did at Carmel with Vocal Adrenaline." I quiet for a moment, reminiscing. Softly, I add, "That was the problem when I went back to Vocal Adrenaline…burying my emotions, reverting to form."

She gives me a puzzled look. "What do you mean _reverting to form_?"

"It doesn't matter," I say with a shake of my head, not needing to go down _that_ road.

"Of course it does or else you wouldn't have mentioned it," she presses.

"I was _indebted_ to Shelby," I proceed to tell her. "I was a band geek before she found me and presented me with all these opportunities with Vocal Adrenaline." Rachel smiles a little at that confession and I know that she's already done the addition in her head with what I told her earlier about my mother.

"Vocal Adrenaline stripped away all of my humanity, all of my emotion. We had to be impassive or else we'd be a veritable mess like you and New Directions, with all your heart and compassion. Going back…I had to be dead inside again."

Rachel's anger subsists for a moment. "I don't believe you're dead inside. At one point after the egging I thought that you were, but that's only because I was hurt and confused."

"Maybe it's not true anymore. Meeting you has certainly changed something in me. Heck, I was going to choose you before Shelby..." I stop and snap my mouth closed. It's not time to divulge that particular truth.

"Before Shelby—what? What were you going to say?" I shake my head, intending not to answer, but Rachel grabs my arm, forcing me to look at her. Her voice is hard as she says, "It's important. I can see in your face that it is. Tell me, Jesse."

I hold her eyes and admit, "I was never supposed to stay with New Directions—it wasn't part of the plan. But I wanted to. I had every intention of doing so. For you. When I told Shelby…she _laughed_ and told me that I wouldn't make that good of an actor if I couldn't separate myself from the role…and the role of your boyfriend was just that. She said that I was merely lost in my character."

I feel Rachel's hand drop slowly from my arm and I mourn the contact, but find that it's too late to stop now that the floodgates are open, my secrets spilling out with lightning speed. It feels good to unburden myself, though I try not to dwell on the consequences. "But that wasn't it at all. I felt like I was home and it was because of you. I fell in love with you and she didn't care. Winning Nationals…that's all that mattered."

I bend down and scoop up a rock, heaving it angrily into the water, watching it skip once, twice, three times before sinking. "I told her that I was going to stay and finish out my senior year at McKinley…that I wanted to be with you. But it was one thing to pretend to date her daughter and a whole different thing to do it for real. So, she gave me an ultimatum—I could return to Vocal Adrenaline, win Nationals and see all my dreams come true…or I could have you. But she wasn't really giving me a choice. To deal with that…with being denied you…I acted out, resorted to old habits. I was a class A asshole to you and everyone…" I pull at my hair in agitation, needing some infliction of pain to dull the ache raging inside. As soon as I start to feel the pain, reveling in it, I feel Rachel's fingers covering my own, pulling my head down to her shoulder.

"I wish you would have told me—"

"—I wasn't supposed to have any further contact with you. A clean break was what I needed, Shelby said." I straighten, pushing away from her, scoffing with irritation. "That was the last thing I needed. You were this ghost in my head for a whole fucking year afterward, your voice playing over and over like a broken record. God, do you have any idea how hard it was to get over you?"

Her voice is hollow. "No."

"That's because I haven't."

Her eyes moisten before me. "Why would you tell me that? Why would say that now?"

I flash her a look of exasperation. "Rachel, what the hell do you think the past few weeks have been about? Do you think I've been loitering at the coffee shop just to renew our _friendship_?"

"I hadn't really thought about it, to tell you the truth," she says, guilelessly.

"For God's sake, I am not interested in being friends with you," I say, not paying attention to how she could misconstrue my words. She evidently understands my meaning because she flashes me a smile that is rife with sadness, that doesn't quite reach her eyes and give them that shiny twinkle.

"I'm sorry but I can't offer you anymore than that, Jesse. I just broke up with Finn. I'm in no position to be in another relationship." She pauses, weighing her words very carefully. "Especially with you."

"Especially with me?" I repeat, affronted.

"Our entire relationship was built on a lie. How exactly do you expect me to feel? After everything you've told me, how could I possibly trust you? How can I believe anything you say?"

I grab her suddenly, both of us taken aback by the desperation conveyed in my action. "It wasn't a lie, damn it. Everything was real. It may have started for all the wrong reasons, but we'd be trying again for all the right ones. But if you're too scared to give us another chance, then maybe…then maybe we weren't meant to last like I thought we were."

"Evidently we weren't or else you would've chosen us…you would've chosen _me_." Rachel pushes my hands away, a spark of frustration gleaming in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Jesse, but I can't risk my heart with you again. I barely survived it the last time."

I open my mouth to speak, to add…something, but she's not quite done—not by a long shot.

"You have no idea what it was like…being cast aside, first by you and then by Shelby." She gulps, fighting tears. "God, did you even consider my feelings?"

Shelby had gone through so much trouble to connect with Rachel I never considered that she would toss her so carelessly aside and, in turn, make everything I did in vain. "Of course I did. I spent more time considering your feelings than my own. Then again, any emotion I had Shelby funneled out of me when she made me give you up."

"Well, I guess we have that in common. Because _you_ did that to _me_."

I watch as she stalks away, stopping first to scoop up her shoes. Although her words have hit me like a one-two punch, I yell, "Rachel!" I don't know why I call her name, just that I don't want her to leave so…aggrieved.

But Rachel doesn't stop. She continues walking until I'm forced to follow. Neither of us talk as we make the long trek back to the house. At her car, she stops to glower at me before she climbs inside, starts the engine and speeds away, while I watch and wonder if the truth really does set you free.


	4. Nothing Ever Hurt Like You

**Title**: An Inevitable Conclusion  
**Characters/Pairing**: Jesse/Rachel  
**Disclaimer**: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Post-"Journey"  
**Summary**: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.  
**Notes**: Two updates in one week? Yay, y/y? A little bit about this chapter-Because I love my secondary characters and we needed to meet more of Jesse's family to flush out his character and _ground him_, this chapter introduces his vaguely mentioned uncle. Patrick Grady looks an awfully like Michael Landes in my head. Why? I don't know. He just does. He's Jesse's mother's youngest brother and is especially close to his only sister's son. He's a science teacher, he likes to garden and he likes classic cars. I love him and this will not be the last we see of him. (Jesse and Rachel stuff happens, too, in case you were wondering.) Thank you for all the feedback on this story. I'm glad you're all enjoying it, angst-overload notwithstanding. Also: the song referenced is David Cook's "I Did It For You;" because it is awesome and reminds me so much of Jesse and Rachel's relationship. Happy reading!

—

**04. Nothing Ever Hurt Like You**

After a day of feeling sorry for myself and nearly throwing up my hands in defeat and heading back to L.A., I decide that it's time that I ask for some advice. I think about discussing the situation with my mother (she's offered, after all), but what perspective could she possibly give me? She'd simply chastise me for my careless actions and tell me that Rachel is better off without me—and I'd have to agree with her assessment.

So, instead I seek out the one person guaranteed to listen to the situation and give me his honest, unvarnished opinion—my Uncle Patrick.

As I turn onto his street, I notice that Mr. Arbuckle's old cruiser still sits on blocks in his driveway and Mrs. Lindley's yard is still littered with cat memorabilia. Uncle Pat is the youngest person on the block, but you wouldn't know it by the vintage '68 Pontiac Firebird sitting in his driveway and the rocking chair on the front porch. The man isn't yet forty and already he's having a mid-life crisis.

I park at the curb and grab the mail from the box before I let myself inside the house with the key that I never returned. I toss the mail on the table and make my way toward the back door, knowing not to bother trying to find Uncle Pat in the house since he favors the outdoors, preferably his garden.

Like I knew I would, I find him trudging through his herbs, wearing his "work" overalls and beat up Cincinnati Reds baseball cap, poking at a plant with a stick. "I was beginning to worry that you'd forgotten all about me," he says, sensing my presence behind him.

"Have they started to talk back?" I ask, referring to the vegetables that he's known to converse with. He's a science teacher, but in his spare time he dabbles with plants, growing them for fun and pleasure. He doesn't tease me for my love of singing and in turn I don't tease him for all the time he spends with his plants. Although I do tease him now and again for talking to them like they're people and to him they just may be.

"No, but it's better they be mute than smartasses." He looks over at me, nodding his head, urging me over. "Glad to see that you remember my address. Were your legs broken?" he asks, plucking a cucumber off its vine.

Amused, I shake my head, trudging through the garden in his wake. "No, my legs are fine," I say, kicking him to demonstrate.

"Do that again and you might find your leg broken anyhow," he warns, though I know it's an empty threat. "So, if it wasn't a broken leg that kept you away, what was more important that it took you five damn weeks to come see me?"

"That's what I came to talk to you about," I say, barely getting the words out. I hate asking for advice. I hate asking anyone for _anything_. One thing I learned early on was that I could only depend on myself—a vital lesson thanks to my parents and their inability to have any need for me.

Uncle Pat stops walking and turns around pretty swiftly for a man of his age, poking me in the chest with his stick, right in the heart. I stare at the stick and its place on my chest as Uncle Pat remarks, "This is about a girl, isn't it?"

There's no way that Uncle Pat is that observant. "You've been talking to Mom."

He's not even the slightest repentant. "Sharon said that you wouldn't talk to her and figured that sooner or later you'd wind up here. She didn't betray any confidence, though I know you wouldn't have told her anything to begin with. She just said that a girl had been visiting pretty frequently and every time she left you turned into a bear hibernating for winter."

"I can't say that summation is entirely wrong."

Facing me, Uncle Pat props his stick against his shoulder, readjusting the cap on his head. "Is this the kind of conversation that we should be sitting face-to-face for? I mean, you didn't knock this girl up, did you?" he asks with a raise of his eyebrows.

I roll my eyes and insist, "Of course not!"

My uncle leans close and whispers, "Why not? Do you have…problems?" He moves his index finger up and down to emphasize his point. _Oh, God._ I want to crawl into a hole and never come out. The only thing that could be worse than this is having the exact conversation with my mother. I shudder at the mere thought.

"Uncle Pat! No!" I say, though I might have problems after this conversation. For a very long time.

He shrugs, continuing his walk through the garden. He stops before a tomato plant, deviating from our conversation to have one with the vegetable. Uncle Pat's a tad unusual, but I'd take him over my other four uncles any day. Returning his attention to me, he tells me, "If there's no problem with your equipment, then I don't see much of a problem."

"How could you possibly see whether there's a problem or not when you haven't allowed me to say anything."

"So, there _is_ a problem?"

"Yes, there's a problem. _Me_." Uncle Pat faces me once more and moves his finger again. I seriously contemplate grabbing his stick and hitting him with it. "Oh, for God's sake, Uncle Pat…," I groan, and then explain in the next breath, "I did some things I'm not proud of and now she's pretty ticked."

Uncle Pat snaps his fingers. "I see where this is leading. Slept with one of her friends, did you?" He flicks his fingers against my forehead. "Dumbass! I hope she was pretty and not some troll."

He's determined to be obtuse today; this is obviously payback for my neglecting my familial responsibility. "You're not taking this seriously. Clearly I came to the wrong place," I tell him in agitation, turning around with the intent to leave. On second thought, I face my uncle again, my desperation palpable. "I love this girl, Uncle Pat, and I fucked up so badly that I think I really messed up my chance to be with her."

Uncle Pat smacks me in the arm with the stick once, then again. "What did you do?" he demands, glaring at me.

"Well, for starters, I lied to her. She thought we met by some twist of fate when really it was all part of a plot that…well, that really doesn't matter. I also failed to properly break up with her. I transferred schools without telling her. I let my friends pelt her with eggs, and did the same thing myself. Oh, and I introduced her to her birth mother."

I watch as Uncle Pat makes a peculiar face, then takes off his baseball cap to scratch his head. "That last one should be one in your favor, shouldn't it?"

"It should, but it isn't."

"Okay, here's what's gonna happen. I'm gonna drink beer and you're gonna tell me this whole story, alright?" he says, pointing toward the house, which is a hint that I need to turn around and get moving in that direction.

I'm headed in the direction of the house, but obviously not fast enough for Uncle Pat because he pushes past me until he is leading the way. He pulls open the back door and waits for me to catch up, asking when I'm a few feet away, "You sure you just didn't sleep with her friend or get her pregnant?"

"I'm sure, Uncle Pat."

"Good grief, kid. I'm not even sure I wanna know what kind of shit you got yourself into. C'mon. Get your ass in the house. Let's get this girl talk over with," he says, pulling me by my shirtsleeve inside.

—

Sitting across from Uncle Pat at his kitchen table, I spill the entire story from my first glance of Rachel at Sectionals to spilling all of my secrets to her the day before. My uncle remains stoically silent throughout the entire story, drinking his beer and nodding his head as he makes notes on a steno pad.

"That's it?" he asks once I stop talking and glance at him expectantly.

"That's enough."

He nods, pushing his steno pad across the table. I look down at it, reading aloud amongst all the doodles and scratch outs: "Jesse, you're an idiot. Could you be a bigger tool? You should be thankful Rachel still speaks to you. Sincerely, Uncle Pat." I push it back to him. "You're hilarious."

"So are you," he says, laughing, as he tosses the pad onto the desk behind him. "You want this girl? Well, you do what every other man in your position has ever done—you grovel. You just have more groveling to do than most."

"Grovel—that's your advice? Mom could've instructed me to do that."

"Normally, I'd say get her drunk and intentionally get her pregnant, but your mother would kill me for that sage advice were you stupid enough to go out and do it. So do us both a favor and keep your dick in your pants."

"Believe me, that's not a problem," I mutter under my breath. Unfortunately, Uncle Pat still overhears, much to my eternal embarrassment.

"Ah, so your girl's not putting out, either, huh?"

I groan, dropping my head onto the table. "Like you're getting laid on the regular," I say, my voice muffled against the wood that smells like beer.

"Well, as a matter of fact…"

I snap my head up. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. That's just not right."

Uncle Pat's smirk is so pompous I'm disgusted and happy for him at the same time. "Her name's Jenny. We met at bingo," he supplies, bragging.

"Since when do you bingo?"

"A lot of things change in a year," Uncle Pat starts, sitting back in his chair with his beer. "Take for instance, my nephew. He decided to fall in love and go off to college and forget about his favorite uncle."

"How'd you come to the conclusion you're my favorite?"

"I took you in when you wanted to go to a different school just to be with a girl, didn't I? I better be your goddamn favorite."

"Good point. Give me the Firebird and you'll really be my favorite."

He shakes his head and _cackles_, "Jess, I wouldn't give you the Firebird if you were my own kid."

—

The sun has set by the time I climb into my car to leave my uncle's. He insisted that I stay for dinner; he ordered pizza and while we ate he insisted I tell him all about my first year of college (though he was more interested in the girls I dated than the courses I took). I left out the part about dating girls that only reminded me of Rachel; he'd call me pathetic and well…he'd be right.

As I'm heading home, my thoughts turn to Rachel and what to do about her. She seemed to take everything I told her in stride up until I confessed that I was still in love with her. Maybe I should've shelved that truth for a rainy day. But no, it was good that I told her. I had kept it bottled up inside for way too long. It was cathartic not having that secret to contend with on top of all the others.

Concentrating on my driving, I ease off the gas and apply pressure to the break as the traffic light at the next intersection turns from yellow to red. I pull to a complete stop and jab buttons on the radio while I wait for the light to turn green. The popular music station is playing Lady Gaga, so I switch it, not needing a reminder of Shelby since I have a plethora.

Finding nothing of interest, I hook up my iPod and put it on shuffle as the light turns green. I shift back into motion, tapping my fingers on the dash as I wait for the first song. It turns out to be a David Cook song that, as I listen to it, reminds me of my situation with Rachel.

_You're the one thing that can make me whole_.

I quickly latch onto the lyric, repeating the line over and over in my head, the simple words making complete sense in my head, in my heart.

I know what I have to do.

I switch lanes and swing the car around to head back in the opposite direction toward Rachel's house. I run two red lights in my haste to get to her house, rehearsing what I'm going to say as I push on the gas a little harder.

Arriving at her house, I pull into the driveway behind her car and shut off the engine. For a moment I just sit behind the wheel, staring at the house. I debate the brilliance of this idea considering how we left things yesterday, but I don't mull over it long—after all, I'm here, might as well get it over with. I slip my keys from the ignition and climb out.

I ring the doorbell and patiently wait for Rachel to answer, putting my hands behind my back to keep from clenching them into nervous fists. She answers the door in a pair of cut off shorts and a fitted little shirt, clearly surprised to see me. "Jesse…hi."

"Hey. I'm probably the last person you want to see right now, but I just need five minutes and then I'll be gone. I promise."

"Your promises haven't meant much in the past," she reminds me.

I step closer to Rachel until we're just a few inches apart. "I deserve that. Five minutes, Rachel. _Please_."

And so the groveling begins.

"Alright. Five minutes."

I don't miss a beat, launching into my ill-prepared speech. "Okay. Here's the thing, Rach," I begin slowly, "I know I'm an idiot. We established that yesterday. But I'd be an even bigger idiot if I walked away a second time. Or if I let you walk away just because you're scared I'll hurt you again. That's the chance we all take in relationships, heck even in friendships. You could hurt me just as easily as I could hurt you. And you know…I'm okay with those odds. I'm okay with taking that chance. I care about you too much to take the coward's way out. If you only want to be my friend, that's fine. I'll take that if it's all you're offering…but I'm not going to settle for it. I can't…not feeling the way I do about you."

"Everything you did, Jesse…I can't just forget it."

"I'm not asking you to forget…I'm not even asking you to forgive. I'm just…words can't begin to express how truly sorry I am about everything, Rach. I wish you could believe that and I know it's just going to take some time for me to earn your trust back."

She sighs and I can tell that I'm getting under her skin. "Everything you told me yesterday...it was a lot to take in all at once, Jesse. I need time to process it all."

"I understand," I say, rejoicing on the inside at the victory, however small it is. "And I meant what I said—I won't settle for just being your friend. I can be pretty tenacious when I put my mind to something. You better prepare yourself for seeing an awful lot of me."

"Somehow, I think I can endure it."

—

It's not a date, but Rachel agrees to dinner over the weekend. We meet at the coffee shop and walk the two blocks over to the restaurant, a newly opened Chinese eatery that boasts a variety of vegan options for Rachel. She thanks me for my foresight, smiling at me genuinely for the first time since I'd made my confessions. I wish I could pocket it and save it for a rainy day, but for the moment I revel in it, hoping that this is the first of many, and, perhaps, a step toward absolution.

Conversation comes easily to us as we peruse our menus. We talk inanely of our surroundings and debate our dinner options, but neither of us mentions how our relationship has changed in the past week. It's an obstacle we'll have to work hard to overcome, but I have no doubt that we will, and with great success.

After the waitress has taken our orders, I sit back in my chair and look across the table at Rachel. Though this is not a date, she's dressed up like it's one, wearing a strapless bubblegum pink dress that makes me want to run my fingers along her shoulder and down her arm…kiss her collarbone.

I've thought of nothing else but peppering kisses along her exposed skin since she climbed out of her car and I saw what she was wearing. I want to bury my face in her neck and breathe in her scent, pull the pins from her hair and delve my fingers in the silky strands. Quickly, I expel the thoughts with a shake of my head, picking up my glass to take a drink of water.

Rachel glances at me curiously as I gulp down half the glass. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I insist as I look around for the waitress to inquire about a refill. Once I find her, lifting up my near-empty glass, I resettle in my seat and face Rachel once more.

"I was really glad when you called."

"You were?"

Rachel nods, slipping her silverware out of its napkin to spread the cloth on her lap. "I've been doing nothing but working and I needed the distraction."

"Well, I'm glad that I could distract you." It had taken me two days to work up the courage to call her, fearing that she'd reject my dinner proposal. Though, I guess it had helped that I started with, _I'm just proposing dinner, not a dinner date…_

Rachel's small smile is full of secrets. "All you do is distract me, Jesse."

"Why do you say that?" I ask as the waitress returns to refill my glass.

Rachel waits until the woman departs before she answers, tucking her hair behind her hair, the action belying her composed demeanor. "Because as much as I try to remain unaffected by you, the fact of the matter is you…well, you affect me. You have from the very beginning."

"That's a good thing," I say, pleased with this turn of events.

"You don't have to be so smug."

I try to wipe the smile from my face, but I just can't do it. She might be able to feign indifference, but I can't do it. Not anymore. "I know that you don't want to feel however it is you feel about me, Rachel, and that's okay. I understand. I ran from my feelings, too."

"How did you cope?" she asks, drawing circles on the white tablecloth.

I scratch my cheek. I don't think telling her about the girls I dated at UCLA is going to be points in my favor, but since I'm all about the truth these days… "I dated. I couldn't have you so I found the things that I adored about you in other girls."

Rachel seems amused, her smile wan. "And how'd that work out for you?"

"Terrible, actually. It didn't take long for me to realize that the things I adored about you was because it was _you_. When I came to understand that, I knew I had to come back, if to just explain everything. But on the plane ride home I was able to really think about things and I decided that explaining everything to you wasn't going to be enough. That wasn't going to satisfy me. I wanted a second chance. I wanted you and I wanted a real shot to see if we could work, if what we had was a forever type of thing."

"Do you think it could be?"

"I think it's possible. I know the odds are against us because not very many high school relationships survive, but we could be that couple that lucks out, we could be the one that makes it through everything because we're determined to, because our relationship is that strong." I watch her facial expressions, her uncertainty right there all over her face. "But I guess I'm the only one here that thinks that."

"It's not that I don't like you, Jesse. I do. A lot. But I just can't take that last step and put myself, my heart, in your hands again."

"What are you really afraid of, Rachel? You're here with me now…how's that any different from us dating?"

"It's not," she says, averting her eyes to her lap. "But I feel if I deny myself just the pleasure of your company that…that I'll be missing out on something really spectacular."

"My company…my friendship…that's really all you want?"

"No, Jesse, it's not all I want. But for now it's all I need. I wish you'd respect that."

I'm thoroughly chastened. I pushed her once before with disastrous results and I can't do that again, even though it's for a completely different reason, a completely selfish one. So I nod, respecting her wish, glad for the arrival of our food at that moment.

—

As we eat our dinner, we scour for conversation, talking minutely about New Directions (Rachel's optimistic that they'll reach Nationals this year) and the past year, the changes that we've both undergone. Then, Rachel probes into our past, inquiring about my double-life, the one that I had hoped that we'd put to rest a week ago.

"When did you find time to practice with Vocal Adrenaline when we were almost always together?" she asks innocently and I can tell this has been weighing on her mind since that day at the lake.

"There were a few late night rehearsals. And sometimes when I told you that my uncle needed me…I was with them. That day that you snuck into rehearsals…when you realized that it was Shelby singing on the tape…I was there."

I watch as Rachel gets lost in her thoughts, thinking back to that day in the Carmel auditorium. Finally, it all comes together. "You were in costume."

I nod dejectedly. "My job ended there and with you not talking to me…"

"I had a lot going on."

"I was your boyfriend, Rachel, and you just…you just pushed me away. I understand that what you were going through was big for you, but I would've helped you through it."

"I just needed to think, Jesse. I never meant to push you away. It wasn't intentional."

"Well, it didn't really matter in the end, anyway. We were doomed the moment you walked onto that stage and told Shelby that you were her daughter." All this talk of Shelby has made the food settle painfully on my stomach. I set my fork down and push my plate away, my insides twisting and turning the deeper we get into this topic.

"That day…is that when you and Shelby…"

I cut her off, knowing what she's asking. "Rachel…does it matter?"

"I'm just trying to understand it all, Jesse."

I don't want to talk about this anymore. I don't want to even think about Shelby Corcoran. But I've had longer than Rachel has to process it all. I owe her the truth. I owe her answers.

"Even though you weren't talking to me, I knew that eventually you would. I had already fallen hard for you and I wanted to make things work. I wanted to stay at McKinley with you…I didn't so much care about Regionals or Nationals or any of it. I cared about _you_. When I told Shelby what I had planned…well I didn't think she'd react the way that she did. I thought she'd want you to date me. She trusted me. She knew me. But I was her ticket to another National title. She knew that if I rebelled, if I really intended to stay, she could go to my parents. Shelby had become close with my mother due to her active participation with the boosters. She would've gone to my parents in a heartbeat and gave them some reason to yank me back to Carmel. I did what I had to do. I withdrew from McKinley a couple of days later and you know the rest."

Rachel is quiet for a moment as she takes a sip of her water and regards me with a woeful look. "I'm sorry you were subjected to that."

"Rachel, don't pity me."

"I'm not. I'm _sympathizing_ with you."

"Well, don't do that either. I brought all of this on myself by agreeing to it in the first place. I'm not innocent and everything that's happened…well, I have myself to blame."

She sighs again, an annoyed sound escaping her mouth. "Actually, Shelby's to blame for the majority of it." I flash her an unyielding look, unprepared for her logic. Luckily, she interprets my look as the subtle warning it was meant to be, relenting, "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Well, I guess that makes two of us," I say, waving my hand at the waitress to ask for the check.

—

I walk Rachel to her car, parked at the curb in front of the coffee shop, waiting for the inevitable blow off that never comes. Instead, just a few feet away from her car, she turns to me and says, "I have a proposition for you. Well, it's not so much a proposition since that has a dirty connotation as it is an invitation."

"I think I rather the proposition with the dirty connotation," I joke before Rachel flashes me a scathing look. "I'm _kidding_. You've piqued my interest. What's up?"

"I came tonight so that I could talk to you about this and it's taken me all night to work up the gumption to even _mention_ it." I'm rapt as she takes a deep breath and explains, "There's going to be a party at my house next weekend. It's my dads' twenty-fifth anniversary so they feel the need to celebrate it with a huge party with all of their friends. And I was wondering…_hoping, really_…that you'd be my date."

I look at her abruptly. I certainly hadn't been expecting that. "You want me to be your date?" I repeat, sure I've heard wrong.

"They're expecting me to bring someone and well...you seemed like the best candidate." She touches my arm gingerly. "Feel free to say no."

I say, "Yes."


	5. Forever's Gonna Start Tonight

**Title**: An Inevitable Conclusion  
**Characters/Pairing**: Jesse/Rachel  
**Disclaimer**: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Post-"Journey"  
**Summary**: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.  
**Notes**: You reviewers are awesome! You don't know how relieved I am that you're enjoying the story. This part was so easy to write...I think it took me less than a day to crank it out, although I spent a great deal of time on YouTube researching music selections. The music used toward the end of the chapter is Coldplay's "The Scientist" and Lifehouse's "It Is What It Is." I can't say much more than that without giving anything away. So, I hope you enjoy.

—

**05. Forever's Gonna Start Tonight**

I'm grabbing my keys out of the cylinder dish on the counter in the kitchen when my mother returns early from her fundraiser. I can smell her gauzy perfume so I know she's there. I turn my head a fraction, seeing that she's stopped in the doorway to give me a quizzical look. "My, my, look at you all dressed up. Where are you off to?"

"There's a party for Rachel's dads. It's their silver anniversary."

My mother manages to ignore everything I've just said, focusing on the part that I didn't expect her to dwell much on. "Rachel…is that her name?"

I realize suddenly that I've never mentioned Rachel by name before this moment. She's always been a secret, something entirely mine that I kept close to my heart. I've never wanted to share her with my parents for fear that I would jinx our new start, the one I'm determined to have. Now that I'm purged of my guilt, it's easier to talk about her. Moreover, I _want_ to talk about her. Even to my mother. "Yes," I tell my mother now, slipping my wallet into the back pocket of my jeans.

"This must be serious if you're going to a party for her parents."

I shrug nonchalantly, twirling my keys around my finger. "It's not like I haven't met them before," I say, succeeding in shoving my foot down my throat. My mother looks gravely wounded as she realizes that I've excluded her from such an important part of my life. I entertain my guilt for a moment, then disregard it altogether. I won't feel guilty for something as minuscule as not introducing my mother to a girlfriend (not that Rachel is my girlfriend) when she hasn't ever bothered to act as if she cared, as if I meant a damn thing to her. "I have to go. Rachel's expecting me," I say, bolting for the door, eager to get away.

"Jesse? Please wait a moment."

_Not such a perfect getaway, after all_, I muse, my hand on the gripping the handle of the door that leads out to the garage. "What is it?"

"When are you going to let me into your life? I've been making an effort and you're…and it's getting me nowhere. I know I've made some missteps. I know I haven't been the best mother, the mother that you deserve but…when are you going to stop punishing me?"

"I don't know, Mom. Maybe once you stop punishing _me_," I tell her, my voice lethally calm as I yank open the door, punctuating the end of the conversation and a dubious start to my night by letting it slam behind me.

—

I've managed to calm down immeasurably by the time I reach Rachel's house. Putting the windows down and blaring Metallica definitely helped, so did the kicking of my tire in the driveway before I even climbed in the car. I'm resolved to have fun tonight and refuse to let my mother's ability to get under my skin ruin this night for Rachel, for _us_.

The party's in full swing when I arrive a quarter to seven. I have to park down the road and walk past five houses while enduring the company of a dog that reaches my ankles and sports girly pink bows on its ears, but I finally reach Rachel's house.

I stand on the stoop to adjust my tie before I ring the doorbell. The door opens a moment later and paste a smile on my face, expecting to see Rachel, but I'm disappointed because instead it's some guy that I don't know, never seen before, wearing the requisite catering garb.

"Good evening. The party's out back," he says, pointing me to the back of the house.

"I know the way, thanks," I say and start to make my way in that direction, casting a look around the house as I do, noting that not much has changed since the last time I was here, forever ago.

The backyard is enclosed in a tent, bodies clustered together like a herd of sheep. It looks like everyone the Mr.'s Berry know is here. I spend a moment standing on the top step, searching the yard for Rachel. I don't know how long I'm standing there (slightly annoyed that I can't find her) when one of her dads finds me. I'm surprised that he even remembers me.

"Jesse!"

I step down onto the grass, holding out my hand to shake the other man's. I _think_ he's the one she calls Daddy…though, I could be wrong. "Mr. Berry, hello. Congratulations on twenty-five years. That's a feat."

He nods, his happiness catching—I feel my sour mood diminish. "It's a milestone to be celebrated lavishly," he says with a flourish of his hand around at the party. "How long have your parents been married?"

"They just celebrated twenty years." That's a total fabrication, of course. I don't know when my parents have celebrated anything together, much less their anniversary. As far as I know they married because they were in love, but whether or not they still are…well, I have no fucking idea. I doubt they're even capable of such emotion. I glance around and add, "I can only hope to be celebrating like this one day."

"In the general party sense or the twenty-five year commitment sense?"

"The latter." My parents weren't affectionate with one another and definitely not with me and I always vowed that when I got married and went on to have a family of my own that I would strive to have a different life than the one I had with my parents. I want a life filled with laughter and happiness and a freaking hug now and then. Recently I've come to include Rachel in my future outlook, unable to picture my future without her in it.

Mr. Berry digests this with a nod and a small noise—a long, outdrawn _hmm_. "Rachel tells us you've renewed your friendship."

I bite my tongue at the word _friendship_. I hate that I've had to consign myself to a platonic friendship with Rachel when our previous relationship was anything but. It wasn't sexual, but it damn sure wasn't platonic. Nevertheless, beggars can't be choosers and I am where I am because of my own perfidy.

"We have," I offer lamely. "We're finding things a little difficult to navigate." I don't know why I've disclosed something so personal to a man I barely know…the words just came rushing out of my mouth. I felt like I needed to explain…something.

"We always liked you, Jesse. We were very sad when Rachel told us that the two of you had broken up. I don't know who was more upset her or us." He gives my shoulder a gentle pat. "I myself would like to be right about you. You made Rachel happy and my daughter's happiness means everything to me. I can't be happy if she's not."

"Coincidentally, I feel the same way."

"I thought that might be the case. Greg and I will stay out of it and reserve judging you until Rachel decides what to do. "

"I appreciate that, sir."

"Daddy! The caterer has been looking for you. Dad is freaking _out_—" she stops suddenly, her eyes falling upon me. "Jesse…I didn't know you'd arrived."

"To be fair, darling, he just did a few moments ago," her father tells her.

"Oh," she says, her mouth rounding into a perfectly shaped O. "What were the two of you talking about?" she asks, curiously.

"I was telling your dad that it looks like a great party. Whoever pulled it all together did an extraordinary job." She positively _beams_. "You did all this?"

"I planned everything, down to the tiniest detail of what color plastic dinnerware to use, but the catering company set up the tent and the tables and everything." She turns to look at her dad. "Only the best for the two most important men in my life."

I'm not sure why her comment cuts through me like it does, but I can't help feeling completely slaughtered by her overwhelming devotion to her parents, a devotion that I never felt to my own. I am involuntarily swamped by jealousy, wishing for even the smallest kind of relationship with my parents, knowing that even if we were to form any kind of attachment it would never reach the depth that Rachel shares with hers.

I watch the two share a hug after which Mr. Berry says, "Now, where's this crisis? I should probably go lend a hand."

Rachel points somewhere to the far left, though I'm not listening, the buzzing in my ears preventing any sound from reaching me. It isn't until Rachel's dad makes his departure and she turns to me, putting a hand on my arm that it dulls…then stops completely.

"I'm glad you're here," I hear her say, an honest omission.

"I'm not late, am I?"

"No. You're perfect. Except…" Except? She moves forward, her small, genteel hands reaching out to straighten my tie. She's so close I can feel the heat of her body, smell her light, summery fresh perfume. It's not nearly as overpowering as the scent my mother wears and I'm relieved for the distinction. "Not a tie man, are you?"

"Not really. They're suffocating."

"Well, you look nice."

"So do you," I say, giving her a bold onceover, appreciating the way the off-the-shoulder electric blue dress hugs every curve and contour. I shove my hands in my pockets to fight the overwhelming urge to follow the line of the dress that cuts diagonally over her breasts with my fingertips.

"Thank you," she says, brushing her hands across the lapels of my blazer, tackling some imaginary piece of lint. As if realizing her friendly misstep, she takes a step back, then another. "Are you thirsty?"

"Yeah, I could use a drink," I say, falling into step behind her. I nearly collapse into a dead faint at her feet upon seeing how deep her dress dips in the back. Just friends has never seemed like more of a cosmic joke than it does at this instant.

I follow Rachel to table in a corner of the yard where she asks the bartender for two club sodas, handing one off to me and keeping the other for herself. We sip our drinks as we make our way through the crowd, Rachel leading me to an overlarge oak tree, a stone bench situated beneath it. I wait until she's seated herself before I settle beside her, sitting forward, and resting my elbows on my knees.

"You seem…preoccupied, Jesse. Is everything alright?"

"I've just got something on my mind," I reply tersely, staring into my drink, wishing it was like a magic 8-ball and could supply me with answers to my multitude of questions, even if they're just feeble and obtuse.

"I'm a good listener."

"Of course you are," I say with a fond smile, "you never do anything by half-measures."

She nudges my shoulder good-naturedly. "What's the point of doing anything if you don't do it well?"

I take a sip of my drink, unable to help the grin that contradicts my inner turmoil. It's not easy to stay morose when Rachel is around with her bubbly personality and charming smile. "So, you really did all this?" I ask, steering the conversation elsewhere.

"It wasn't all me, I assure you, but, yeah, the majority of it. My dads were going to take the planning upon themselves, but I insisted that I wanted to take on the task. I think it turned out well."

"I think it turned out _extraordinary_, actually." I shrug. "But I'm a little biased."

"You're more than a little biased, Jesse."

"Yes, that is true. I just know how talented you are."

"I'm not the only talented one sitting on this bench. You're pretty talented yourself."

"Yeah. Well. You have the whole package, Rachel, while with me what you see is what you get." I push to my feet abruptly, nearly tipping over Rachel's drink in the process. She recovers quickly as I swallow the apology hovering on my lips. "You have the doting parents, supportive friends…"

"You have that, Jesse…you have me." I feel her hand on my shoulder, the small touch sending a shock of electricity straight to the southern regions of my body. I really don't need this right now, on top of everything else, this overwhelming attraction I feel towards Rachel to rear its ugly head now. Not when I'm feeling so out of sorts. Not when the possibility of me doing something spontaneous (read: stupid) is so tenable.

"You're the only good thing about me, Rachel."

"Now, I don't believe that at all." She spins me around, taking my face between her hands. "You listen to me, Jesse St. James. You are one in a million. You are smart and talented and…and beautiful. For the life of me I just can't figure out what you're doing here in Lima when you should be at UCLA pursuing your dreams."

I cover her hands tentatively with my own, suffused with warmth at her calling me beautiful. "Who said I'm not pursuing my dream here in Lima? It's just not the dream you're referring to."

I take hold of her wrists and pull her hands from my face, flattening them against my chest, the action propelling her closer. So close. _Too close._ Her breath hitches and it's easy to perceive the deer-in-the-headlights look in her eyes.

After six weeks this moment has become inevitable. We're completely alone, separated from the party and she's staring at my lips, licking hers in supplication. If that's not an invitation, I'm not sure what is.

Gently, I unlock my fingers from her wrists, watching them drop listlessly to her sides. I wrap my arm around her waist and draw her toward me, copying her earlier action and framing her face between my palms, touching my lips to hers before I can think better of it.

The kiss is soft and simple, just a meeting of lips, nothing more than a chaste kiss between friends. I'm resolved not to deepen it unless Rachel gives me some kind of enticement for further experimentation.

But any hope I had of a deeper exploration is thwarted by the arrival of someone in search of Rachel. We hear someone call out, "Rachel? Are you back there?"

Slowly, we part, locking eyes for a long, intense moment. Without a word, Rachel turns and walks away, leaving me shamed and sporting a raging hard-on while wondering if we will ever again be more than mere friends.

—

The crowd gathers around for a toast to Rachel's dads and she's standing only a few feet away from them, smiling blandly. She's listening intently to the words that her dads are declaring to one another, but it's obvious she's preoccupied, her mind only partially on her parents. She finds my eyes in the crowd and for the life of me I cannot decipher what she's feeling, what regrets (if any) she has after our kiss beneath the tree.

The toast complete, the party officially starts, the hired band beginning their first performance. Rachel is standing and watching her dads slow dance when I sidle up beside her, entwining my fingers with hers, saying, "Let's dance," as I drag her onto the dance floor, a little shocked that she doesn't protest.

Gathering her in my arms, we begin to slowly sway to the music, talking unnecessary as Rachel averts my gaze and stares at my shirtsleeve. "So, we're just not going to talk about it then?" I say unable to no longer tolerate her silence. I need to know what she's thinking, whether I made a serious misstep earlier.

She plays coy. "Talk about what?"

I sigh, but it's not in frustration—it's in remorse. I pull her closer to whisper in her ear, "I'm sorry."

Rachel lays her head on my chest and expels a sigh of her own. "Don't be sorry, Jesse. It was…it was nice. I'm not even mad about it. I just…I thought we were going to try to be friends?"

"We were. We _are_…"

She leans back to meet my eyes. "Friends don't kiss."

"Those friends that have beneficial arrangements would care to disagree." Rachel begs with her eyes for me not to persist and because I want to please her, I obey. "Tell me what to do and I'll do it, Rachel. If you want to be friends or you don't…I just can't stand this middle ground anymore. If there's no chance in hell you're gonna date me again tell me now so that I can stop…"

"So that you can stop—what?"

"So that I can stop _hoping_. So that I can stop putting meaning into every smile and look and late night phone call. So that I can finally—hopefully—move on."

We're no longer dancing, but our arms are still locked together, both of us disinclined to break our hold on the other. "Is that what you'll do if I say I just want your friendship—you'll move on?" She sounds saddened by the prospect.

I step back, pulling from her arms, hissing, "What else would you have me do—follow you around like a little lovesick puppy…waiting around, wishing? I'm sorry, but I have to draw a line somewhere, Rachel."

Taking my hand, Rachel pulls me off to the side, the two of us receiving a few curious glances as we pushed through the crowd. "All or nothing…that's what you're saying?" she demands once we've set ourselves apart from the other party guests.

I mull over that for a moment, realizing that's exactly what I'm telling her, though not in such precise terms as hers. "If I can't have you the way I want…yes, then I guess that's what I'm saying."

Rachel glances away, her jaw set. I kind of expect her to hit me. Part of me hopes that she will. But she turns to me and says forlornly, "You don't expect an answer now, do you?"

"Of course not—"

"I need to think."

I open my mouth to tell her I'm sorry, despite the fact that I'm tired of saying those damn words. Besides, by the time I find the words, she's gone and I'm standing by myself, feeling like a schmuck once more, which seems to be my recent objective.

—

I contemplate leaving altogether. Rachel's blown me off since our tête-à-tête during the dance and to be honest I'm no longer in much of a party mood…if I ever was to begin with. I make one last sweep around the party in search of her and when I come up empty, I make my way back to the house.

As I journey through the house with the full intention of seeking out my car and leaving, I find myself searching for an empty room to catch my breath in, to think, instead. I can't leave before talking to Rachel again. I open up one door after the other looking for the den or music room like Rachel calls it, even though it's nothing more than a library with a baby grand nestled in the corner.

Finding it, I duck inside and tug the door closed behind me. I cross the room and yank off my blazer, tossing it carelessly onto the leather upholstered chair behind me. I roll my sleeves up to my elbows and glide onto the bench seat, staring at the keys that were once as familiar to me as my own reflection.

There's no sheet music, but as soon as I put my fingers to the keys I find I don't need any. I don't know what I am playing until I start to hear the melody in my head, the lyrics a lexis with which I'm familiar, my fingers strumming the keys with such precision that it's like I never stopped playing. Not even for a moment. The music in my head coalesces with the notes emanating from the piano, and I quickly discern that playing piano is just like riding a bike, smiling to myself, pleased with my achievement.

I'm so attuned to the song, to the melody progressing through my head, that I don't hear the door open. I'm not privy to Rachel's presence until I see her on the other side of the piano, a little more subdued, but not stark raving mad. That's something, I decide.

For a fraction of a second she watches me, her head cocked to the side as she attempts to ascertain the song I'm playing. She's beautiful and I'm an idiot for extending an ultimatum, pushing her toward a relationship that she may not even want. I want her more than I want my next breath and after our kiss earlier…my need for her has only intensified.

It's nearly inconceivable how much I've come to need Rachel, me who has never needed anyone, who has never depended on anyone aside from myself—and Uncle Pat, on occasion. I need her nearly as much as I want her, possibly more. I'm prepared to face the consequences, if I want her in my life in any way. If friendship is all she's willing to offer, I'll take it, and somehow learn to live with not being _with_ her.

I watch as she folds her body against the piano, our eyes meeting as I continue to play, singing the words in my head as she begins to sing them aloud…words that I should be singing to her, but sound just as beautiful, just as intoxicating in her voice.

_Nobody said it was easy  
No one ever said it would be so hard_

Together, we sing the final notes. Our voices are synchronized as we segue from one lyric to the next, still as harmonious as we were a year ago when we met in that music library and said hello in the only way two Broadway bound people could. When the song is finished and I'm no longer stroking the keys, Rachel offers from across the polished mahogany, "I forgot how well you played."

I smile, tapping a few random keys as Rachel comes and sits beside me. "Play something else," she encourages.

"Like what?"

Rachel shrugs. "I don't know. Surprise me."

My fingers hover over the keys for a long moment as I mentally tick through my songbook, trying to find a song appropriate to the moment. I find the perfect the one and begin to play. It's a recent addition to my repertoire, something I learned while away at school. I play it for Rachel now, concentrating on each note, having not played this particular song since staying up late one night to learn the keystrokes through a YouTube tutorial.

Rachel slides closer to me and lays her head on my shoulder, silently listening. I feel her breath whisper across my neck as she sighs, closing my eyes against a rush of lust that I try my damnedest to overlook.

I think about what it would be like to be her just her friend, being in her life, but not sharing it. I wonder if I'd become her confidante, the guy she runs to when she thinks that her boyfriend is cheating on her, the one that she confides in when they have an argument over him choosing to spend Sundays with the NFL instead of with her. I wonder if I can bear having a part in her life, even if it's a supporting one.

Somehow I finish the song, slowly drumming out the final notes. I drop my hands to my lap, my eyes fixating on the keys. I don't trust myself to look at Rachel and _not_ kiss her again (it's taking every ounce of self-control that I possess).

"That was beautiful, Jesse," she boasts, lifting her head, her hand touching my arm. "How'd you learn it?"

"Tutorial on YouTube."

"I didn't think you played…"

"I don't. I mean, not as much as I used to. Every once in a while I like to sit down and tap out a song."

"What was the one you just played?"

"It's called _It Is What It Is_. I loved the melody, but I didn't really identify with it until I came back," I say, meeting her eyes, knowing that she understands that the song has meaning because of her.

"I'll, um…I'll have to listen to it, then." I know that it's coming even before she asserts, "We should probably talk."

I don't smile, recognizing the gravity of the situation that I've put myself in. Tapping my fingers on the top of the piano, I start to say, "Rachel—" but she puts a finger over my mouth and shakes her head.

"No. It's my turn to talk now. You've apologized and said what you wanted and what you didn't want. It's only fair that I get the chance to do the same." I acquiesce with a nod of my head, giving her my undivided attention, preparing myself for the worst. "Having nothing is not an option for me, Jesse. I can't _not_ have you in my life, not when you've just come back into it. We've managed to salvage a relationship that I thought was unsalvageable. But I don't know if I'm ready for what you're proposing, either. Because you'll just break my heart again when you leave."

"But I'm not—"

"What about UCLA? You're only here for the summer, remember?"

I should have known that Rachel would contemplate the end of summer when I was supposed to return school in California. What she's failed to consider is that I could put off a semester or two. I could transfer closer. I have options, some of which are already under consideration. But what did that matter if she was already putting a check in the no box before weighing the alternatives? "You'll just look for any excuse to tell me no, won't you?"

"I'm not telling you no."

"You're not telling me yes, either."

"That's certainly true."

"Damn it, Rachel, we've only got a few weeks left of summer. Do you really want to squander all that time? We've wasted so much already."

"And that's my fault?"

I turn abruptly, shifting my body so that I'm straddling the chair. I draw her toward me and she doesn't resist. "As a matter of fact…yes. You're so goddamn stubborn."

"Oh, _I'm_ the stubborn one…okay, so maybe that's sort of true."

"Sort of," I scoff, not balking from her forceful glower. "About what I said earlier…well, it doesn't matter what I said. I shouldn't have said any of it. Because the fact of the matter is I tried dating other girls. I've been down that road and it's one I'm loathe to travel again. I want _you_, Rachel." Her eyes soften and I contemplate kissing her again (now that I've started, I can't seem to think of anything else). I somehow manage to keep my lips to myself. "The question is do you want me?"

"It's not that simple—"

"Let me make it simple, then—do you want to be with me?"

"Jesse…"

"Just answer the question. If you don't, I'll understand…or at least I'll try to."

"Yes. Yes, I want to be with you." I can see her eyes misting and I can't do anything to stop the influx of tears. I can only watch and marvel as one falls from her eye and cascades down her cheek.

Gently, I cup her cheek and brush the tear away with my thumb. "The only thing stopping that from happening is you," I remind her in a soft, slightly patronizing voice.

"I can't fail at another relationship, Jesse. And this—us? It's too important…too…too breakable. I don't think my heart will be able to withstand another heartbreak." My efforts to reassure her are cut off with a hurried argument. "You can't assure me that my heart won't get broken. You can tell me you'll try not to break it and I'll believe that, but I don't trust exacts. You said you would never break my heart the last time and you did anyway. Irreparably. Nothing is written is stone. Nothing lasts forever."

"I didn't peg you for a pessimist."

"I'm not. But I've got a shoddy relationship track record."

"Mine isn't swamped with check marks and gold stars, either. Neither of us is perfect and our relationship certainly isn't going to be. Perfection is daunting, anyway. But is being scared of failure a good enough reason not to at least give it a shot? It might not last…but what if it does?"

"That's scariest of all."

"I'll tell you a secret, Rachel—I'm scared, too. You think I don't worry about messing this up again? Because I do. Everyday. But I'd much rather be the coward willing to try than the other guy." I bestow her a piercing look.

Rachel sidles closer…so close that she's nearly sitting in my lap. She loops her arms around my neck, pressing her forehead to mine. "I don't want to be a coward. I want you. I want this. I just don't want us to fail again."

"Failing isn't an option."

"Now you sound like me."

"I wouldn't want to sound like anyone else."

She leans back, searching my face for…what, I don't exactly know. But evidently she finds it, a mischievous smile splitting her face, just before she fists her hands in my shirt and pulls me in for a kiss.


	6. My Heart's Been Here Before

**Title**: An Inevitable Conclusion  
**Characters/Pairing**: Jesse/Rachel  
**Disclaimer**: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Post-"Journey"  
**Summary**: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.  
**Notes**: I had hoped to keep updating twice a week, but my muse was being uncooperative during the course of writing this chapter. I wanted to give Jesse and Rachel one whole chapter of happy fluffiness before I threw angst at them again, but I find I am just not able to write fluff. I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

—

**06. My Heart's Been Here Before**

I'm sprawled on the sofa, an array of snacks spread across the coffee table, engaging in a _Dexter_ marathon. I'm bored out of my fucking mind, but I'm keeping myself occupied with other pursuits in order to keep myself from calling Rachel. I don't know if she wants to hear from me today, even though last night we (more or less) agreed to undertake dating again.

I'd gotten home last night so stupidly happy that not even my mother's cold regard was able to disrupt my mood. She had left early this morning, leaving me a note to inform me that she was going to meet my father in Columbus and from there they'd be traveling on to the Hamptons. She ended her letter with _Have a great summer_. I crumpled the note, tossing it into the trash, knowing better than to have hoped for _Love, Mom_.

I couldn't sleep last night for fear that I'd wake up this morning to discover that last night had been nothing more than a dream and that Rachel and I were still stuck in "just friends" limbo. I lay in my bed for the longest time staring at the ceiling, making plans in my head.

UCLA had been my dream long before Rachel. It wasn't even a dream, really, but a necessity—to get as far away from my parents as possible. I had all the independence that I coveted here (they were never around and even when they were, they didn't care what I did) but their censure, their disregard was not something I wished to endure for another moment. I had to get out. I had to get away.

Then I got to Los Angeles and UCLA was all I had hoped for and more. But I found myself missing home, namely Rachel. I wanted to come home to her (although I spent _months_ denying it to myself).

Now that we're in a good place—at least moving toward that place—I'm reluctant to risk it.

I've already applied as a transfer to a few colleges within commuting distance. I have a stack of letters from a couple universities tucked away in a drawer, unable to open them for fear that they've politely declined my application and I'll be forced to leave Rachel and return to UCLA.

I've just started the second disc of the third season when the doorbell rings. I ignore it, hoping that whoever it is will just go away. (I'm curious to see where Dexter's blooming friendship with Jimmy Smits is headed.) But my visitor is annoyingly persistent. I'm still hopeful they'll go away when I hear the door swing open and shut in succession. "What the…?" I gasp, my curse falling silent when Rachel steps into my view, a welcome surprise.

"What are you doing?" she asks, radiating joy and bursting with nervous energy as she takes in my pajamas and the snacks spread out across the table in front of me. "_Besides_ gaining ten pounds."

I lift the remote and flick off the television. "I've been moderate," I tell her instinctively, though she gives me a look that says that she doesn't believe me one whit.

"If you say so," she says, falling beside me on the sofa.

"If you had called to say that you were coming over, I might have gotten dressed."

"It was a spontaneous thing," she says with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. "And missed catching you sporting Ninja Turtle pajamas?" Her tone is teasing, her smile completely robbing me of breath.

"Not that I'm complaining…but what are you doing here?"

"I was on the elliptical this morning, staring out my window and it was so beautiful outside that I thought we should do something." She glances at the table, then back at me. "But it seems you already have plans," she says with a quirk of her eyebrow that begs me to contradict her.

I lean my head near hers against the back of the sofa, our fingers nearly touching. "I can put it off for another day," I concede, eager to spend any time with her that I can, even if I have to get out of my pajamas to do it.

"How thoughtful," she says, her pinkie finger grazing my thumb lightly.

I laugh as Rachel sits forward and starts to gather up bags of chips and the bowl of popcorn from the coffee table. "Let me do that," I say, my hand bolting out to grab her wrist.

"No, I've got it. Besides, you have to get dressed."

"Why?" I ask, watching morosely as she makes quick work of scooping up all my snacks. I wasn't completely married to the idea of being a lay about all day long, but the plan had merit. However, if I had to choose between television and Rachel…well Rachel would win every time.

"It's summer, Jesse and it's absolutely gorgeous outside. Plus it's Sunday and my only day off this week. I'm _not_ staying indoors and you aren't either."

"All right, but will you at least tell me what you've got planned?"

"Nope," she says with a shake of her head.

I stand up and stare at her. "Normally I like surprises, but you've got an evil gleam in your eye and I don't trust it."

"You shouldn't." I follow her as she starts to make her way toward the kitchen. I wonder what she plans to do with the bags in her arms. She doesn't even know where anything goes. But this is Rachel—she'll no doubt find where everything goes and arrange it all to her liking.

"Hey Rach?" She turns to look at me. "Is this a friendly outing?" I ask, holding my breath as I await her answer, my thumb still burning from her touch moments ago.

She smiles and nods. "It's a couple friendly outing." She points to the stairs. "Now, go get dressed." I laugh, but do as she says, sending a glare back at her as she yells, "And brush your hair!"

—

When I come downstairs wearing a backwards baseball cap, she huffs, "I said brush it, not hide it." She expels a dramatic sigh. "I guess it'll have to suffice."

"I'm wearing shorts and flip-flops and you're taking offense to a baseball cap? Choose your battles, Rach."

Rachel stares at me vacantly before her lips slide into a smile. "Well, you do look _kind of_ adorable."

"Kind of? What nonsense. I'm totally adorable."

I fall into step behind her as she moves toward the door. I make sure the lock is secure before I close it behind us, stepping outside after her. Rachel directs me to her parked car, where she extracts a picnic basket from the backseat and looks to me expectantly, slamming the door. "I thought we could picnic by the lake."

The lake is the last place I want to go considering the last time we were there I shed light on all the lies I told during the course of our relationship. I haven't been back since and I'm not really jumping for joy at returning now, but the earnest look on Rachel's face, the thought that she's obviously put into this little outing softens me a bit. So I paste a smile on my face and go along with it. _For her._

"A picnic sounds fun," I say, taking the basket from her, compelling her to lead the way.

We don't talk very much as we make the trek to the woods. We fill the void with inane conversation—Rachel comments on the flowers, I point to a cloud that looks like a football. The only reference we make to last night's revelations is Rachel admitting that she'd heard _The Scientist_ on the drive over, taking it as a sign the picnic had been a perfect idea.

Arriving at the lake, we find a spot of grass on the bank to lay the picnic blanket and the bounty that Rachel has packed for us—sandwiches, fruit, some bottles of water, a couple of slices of bread and paper plates. We settle down across from one another as she divides the food onto plates, handing mine off to me, then setting hers in her lap.

We eat in silence, the only sounds coming from the water lapping at the rocks and Rachel crunching on a carrot. I try to concentrate on my food and not on her, but it's hard…my eyes are drawn to her. Since I don't have that much of an appetite anyway (I spent the morning eating what I could find in the pantry, after all) I watch her—the way the wind ruffles her hair, the faces she makes as she eats. There's nothing I don't like about her, not one facet of her personality that I find revolting.

I am a _goner_.

"I thought I'd wake up this morning and regret what happened last night," Rachel says unexpectedly.

"Did you?" I ask, popping a grape into my mouth.

Rachel shakes her head. "Not at all. I'm still scared that things will end and I'll be back in the position I was this past year. But even being together for a little while is better than not at all, right?"

I nod agreeably, glad that she's come around to my way of thinking.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" she inquires, anticipating my answer warily.

I look at her like she's sprouted two heads. "You're joking, right? After badgering you the past three weeks for this outcome…you think I've just, what—decided I don't want you anymore?"

"Well, it happens. Boys tend to see the error of their ways after a couple days of my crazy."

I assume the others she's vaguely referring to includes Finn—well, he's more of an idiot than I thought he was. "You're not crazy, Rachel. Those other guys just didn't appreciate your…uniqueness."

"Unique," she repeats with a frown. "That's just a polite way of calling me crazy."

"_No._ No, it's not. I would never call you crazy, Rachel. I don't think you're crazy at all. A little high-strung, sure, but not crazy."

"You're probably the first to say that. Maybe the only."

She falls silent, then, and because I'm at a loss for words as well, I follow her lead. We eat our food quietly for a few moments, staring out over the lake, lost in our own thoughts. "Why are we being so awkward?" I finally inquire.

"I don't know…you've been strange since I barged into your house."

"Well, you did _barge_ in."

"You weren't answering the door."

"Well, I didn't expect you."

"It was unlocked—that's an invitation for entry," she goes on, stalling suddenly, locking her eyes on me, startled. "You didn't expect me—even after last night?"

"_Especially_ after last night," I tell her, tossing my plate into the basket. "I expected you to change your mind."

"I don't have any regrets, Jesse, and I'm ready to see where this leads."

I breathe a sigh of relief as she crawls over to sit beside me, looping her arm through mine and laying her head on my shoulder.

"So, you're through fighting me?"

"I don't know about that," she says and I can feel her smirking against my shoulder. "I am finished fighting my feelings for you, though."

"And if things don't work out?"

She sighs, her breath tickling my ear. "Then I'll cherish the time that we had—whether it's a week, a month or a year. At least I'll be able to live with myself knowing that I wasn't fool enough to say no and keep my heart locked away. I won't look back ten years from now wondering what would've happened had I given you another chance because _I'll know_."

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, I tell her, "Just so you know…I haven't decided what I'm going to do about school. I'm not sure I even want to go back to UCLA. No decisions have been made yet, but I wanted you to know where my head was."

She absorbs that, retaining her silence. Then she says, "I'm glad you brought up your head. Can we talk about where it was last night?"

"Rachel…don't," I demand, shifting my body away from hers, recoiling from her digging into the one subject I want to avoid like it's a damn plague. I've already told her more about my parents than I've told anyone, even Marshall. I don't want her to look at me differently, like someone to be pitied. But if forever is in the cards for us, she'll come to know this part of me someday.

"Come on, Jesse. You had to know I'd ask."

"Actually, I'd really hoped you'd forgotten all about it."

"I'm your girlfriend. You can tell me—what?"

I gape at her incredulously, surprised that she'd said the words first, that she'd put a label to our relationship so quickly. "Nothing," I say, grinning to myself, immensely satisfied.

"You're trying to distract me from my question," she accuses, "and it's not going to work."

"Please, Rachel. I'd rather not taint our picnic with such a morose topic. It's going so well."

"Why is it morose?"

She's relentless. I know that there's no point in trying to evade answering the question—she'll simply badger me until I've told everything she wants to know. With a dramatic sigh, I admit, "Last night before I left for the party I had some words with my mother."

"Oh."

I can see in her eyes that she already regrets her prodding, merely at the mention of my mother. There's really no point in saying more since Rachel is well aware of the imperfect relationship I have with my mother, but I find myself delving further into last night's altercation anyway.

"I don't normally make it a point to upset my mother even though she doesn't seem to give a damn about _my_ feelings," I spat angrily. I pluck at a shard of grass, fitfully tearing it into pieces, watching them fall on the blanket beside my leg, then scatter on the breeze. "The woman has impeccable timing, waltzing in just as I was getting ready to head over to your house. She asked where I was going so I told her about the party and wasn't thinking. When I told her that I'd already met your parents…The words just came tumbling out of my mouth of their own accord. It upset her. She accused me of not including in her life, as if she earned that right. I don't know why she's choosing now to take a maternal concern in my life. I guess it's because she knows that once I move to New York, I won't be coming back." I glance over at Rachel to find her staring at me blankly.

"Is that true? You won't come back once you move to New York?"

"Not unless I have something worthwhile to come back _to_," I tell her pointedly. "And my parents just aren't enough incentive. Now, who's trying to distract who?"

She blushes, chagrined, shifting her body around until she's facing me. "Sorry. Go on."

I pull my knees up to my chest, resting my arms atop them. "She asked when I was going to stop punishing her and my retort involved asking her when she was going to stop punishing _me_. I don't think I could've tolerated much more, so I left after that."

Rachel grabs my hand, squeezing it comfortingly; I squeeze it back. "I'm sorry, Jesse."

"Don't be," I insist. "I know that I'll never have the relationship with my parents that you have with yours. It's fine. _I'm_ fine."

"I've never known that kind of discord and I hate that you have to suffer through it."

Knowing that I can't just tell her half the story, I proceed to tell her the rest. "She didn't speak to me when I got home last night. I woke this morning and found a note saying that she'd be gone for the rest of the summer."

"She didn't even try to talk things out with you?"

"Rachel, there's no point in attempting to determine why my mother acts the way she does. I've tried to understand the woman and I just…it's useless. I'm just glad that my parents are creatures of habit and will be spending the remainder of the summer at the house in the Hamptons."

"You have a house in the Hamptons?"

"Yeah. I've told you that, haven't I?"

"Does this look like the face of someone you've told?" she says, pointing to said face.

I laugh softly, telling her, "I haven't been in a couple of years. We'll go sometime."

"Pretty optimistic for our survival, aren't you?"

"I'm an eternal optimist," I tell her as I scramble to my feet and help Rachel to hers. I entwine my fingers with hers and tell her, "I'm really glad you came, that you didn't change your mind."

"Last night as I was walking around the party trying to make a decision, the thing I realized, Jesse, is that you're a risk I'm willing to take. Because the alternative…not being with you the way that I want to be with you…that didn't interest me at all. I'm still scared for the future, but right now I'm just focusing on the present…on where we are _right now_."

I grin at her before I pull her into my arms and steal a kiss. A heart-pounding, steal-your-breath kiss. The kind that I've spent the last couple of days fantasizing about. Rachel seems to have conformed to the "one day at a time" mentality, severing our embrace after a few moments to gently push me away.

I take a step back, willing to be patient with her. I don't want to rush this; I don't want to rush _her_. Now that I've won her over, as it were, I want to savor every last second and that means going along according to her timetable. I told her a long time ago that I was willing to wait. And I will.

I nod my head toward the dock. "You want to take a spin on the canoe?"

Rachel glances over at it, unsure, debating her options internally, gnawing on her bottom lip as she does so. She surprises me when she says, "Let's do it," and propels me forward.

—

For the next couple of weeks Rachel and I are utterly inseparable. The transition from friends to more is easy, though not much has changed (okay, so we make out a lot more often). That small fringe benefit has somewhat placated the beast inside, though not entirely. I still want her madly, but I refuse to pressure her into doing something she's not ready for. I'm content just being able to hold her close and pilfer a kiss whenever the mood strikes.

Tonight we're doing the dinner-and-movie date. The dinner portion of the night out of the way, I hold her hand as we stand outside the theater, debating our movie options. Rachel's intent upon the romantic comedy (I think it has more to do with the male lead than her desire to see some sapfest) while I am trying to coerce her into agreeing to the action flick.

"This is a date, Jesse," she reminds me, "and Bruce Willis is not date night material."

"Yes, he is. See, an action movie works in my favor. You'll be so repulsed by the beheading and bloodshed that you'll bury your head in my shirt and hang onto my arm during the fight scenes. I get to see my movie and hold you indecently close."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Though I see the logic in your argument, were you to agree to the romantic comedy you should know that watching a love story unfold onscreen will not only put stars in my eyes but also put me in an amorous mood and make me more inclined to make out with you later."

She does have a point—and she knows it, damn her. She smiles at me broadly as I pull her closer, whispering, "All right. You win."

"I knew you'd see things my way," she says, pressing a quick kiss to my lips, drawing me toward the ticket booth. As we stand there awaiting our tickets, I feel her stiffen beside me. Concerned, I turn to look at her and follow her eyes where they are focused on something in the distance. I soon realize that it's not something, but someone…no, some_ones_—Finn, Puck and a couple of the other guys from glee club, to be exact.

They are exiting the theater and their eyes are fixated upon Rachel. They all stare (glare, really) at one another before Puck fists his fingers in Finn's shirt and starts to haul him away. Rachel doesn't pull her eyes away from them until they all pile into a beat up Ford truck and disappear down the block.

"Hey," I say, touching Rachel's elbow softly, tickets in hand. "Are you okay?"

She nods. "I'm fine. I knew I'd run into him eventually. And with school starting in a few weeks, it was expected. I just…the way he looked at me…the way they all did…"

"People break up all the time. He'll get over it."

"We never got over _our_ breakup," she reminds me.

"That was different."

"How so?"

"Because we were over from the very start. We were denied our chance at a real relationship. And Finn—well he's just mad that you came back to me." I hold the tickets out to her, asking, "Do you want to go? We can if you want. I'd understand."

Surprisingly, she shakes her head as she closes my fingers around the tickets. "No, I'm not going to let them ruin our night." She kisses me again and subsequently grabs my hand and pulls me inside the theater, already informing me of her food preferences.

—

The remainder of summer flies by in a flash, my days and nights filled with Rachel. A few times I carve out a night to go carousing with Marshall and Wesley, but I always bow out early so that I can steal some time away with Rachel, not caring that I've become _that guy_.

Before we know it school is upon us both, although neither of us are ready to talk about how our relationship will change…if it doesn't come to a crashing halt altogether. We haven't talked about the future because we're not sure if we even have one.

Until now.

My mind is awhirl with thoughts and plans as I sit on Rachel's front steps waiting on her to get back from school. I've been sitting on her steps for only fifteen minutes when I spot her car coming down the road. A smile tugs my lips and abruptly falls as she pulls into the driveway, somehow failing to hit the bumper on the Range Rover.

When she steps out of the car I can easily deduce that something has happened—the hampered look on her face is a dead giveaway. I bolt to my feet. "Rachel?" I ask as she comes barreling forward, throwing her arms around me. "What's wrong?" I ask, holding her tight against me as she hides her face against my chest.

Her answer is muffled against my shirt. "What?"

"They kicked me out of glee club," she repeats stridently.

"Why?" I ask, pushing her back a bit, my fingers buried in her hair, her body leaning into mine.

She spits out, "Me and Finn. Oh, it's perfectly acceptable for Noah to sex up everyone in the club, but I can't break up with one of them." I notice that she looks everywhere but in my eyes as she says this. It's easy to ascertain the real reason behind Rachel's unceremonious eviction from New Directions.

"Is that really the reason?" I pose the question, wondering how long she's going to deny that us being together isn't the cause.

"Yes." She sighs before admitting, "No. They did it because of you…because of us." She glances up at me, her brown eyes filled with sadness and disappointment.

"I figured." I lead her toward the steps and we both sit down. "Tell me what happened."

Rachel immediately launches into the story, explaining that she walked into the choir room for the glee meeting, unaware that it was to be a lynching, so to speak. "I knew that something was up when I walked in and everyone was crowded around in a circle, whispering amongst themselves. Mr. Schuester wasn't there yet. They took a vote and it was unanimous. They said I'm not a team player!"

I console her with a comforting back rub. "Maybe they just need some time to cool off."

"They said that you were probably only dating me to learn secrets for…for the new batch of eggers. I don't know why they think they're any better than you or Vocal Adrenaline. It's not liked they haven't egged me before—and with a lot more relish." She must have noticed my face harden because she hastens to add, "It was before they all joined glee. Before we really knew one another."

"Still, that doesn't give them the right."

Rachel flashes me a frank look, but doesn't mention the Vocal Adrenaline egging. By tacit agreement we've agreed to leave that in the past where it belongs.

"It was humiliating," she continues, "and he just stood there and didn't say anything."

"Mr. Schuester?"

"No, Finn. Before we dated, we were friends. They're all supposed to be my friends." She meets my eyes, hers pleading. "Aren't friends supposed to be supportive? Shouldn't they want me to be happy?"

"I think that's one of the commandments," I say.

"Now I see why you don't have friends. They stab you in the back the first chance they get," she scoffs.

"I take offense to that assumption—I have friends."

She seems surprised by this particular omission. "How come I've never met them, then? Are they imaginary?"

"Funny," I say through a spry laugh. "My friends are no longer in high school, remember? They're attending college and have jobs. A few of them have moved out of town." "

"I didn't know. You never talk about them."

"They just never came up." I grab her hand, placing it between both of mine as I subtly move the conversation back to her, inquiring, "What are you going to do about New Directions?"

"I don't know. This isn't the first time they've threatened to edge me out and if they don't want me there…well, why would I subject myself to that? In the end it's Mr. Schuester's decision whether I can stay in the club or not, I guess."

"With a little time, maybe they'll come around."

"I was looking forward to this year. It was going to be _our_ year. I was so confident that we'd make it to Nationals…"

"You still can."

"Not with any of my team talking to me…if they're even my team anymore. Everything's all messed up." I tense beside her, assuming that she's trumping me in along with everything else. She's quick to assure me, patting my hand and turning her body into mine, "I don't mean you. You…you're the best decision I've made and I won't apologize to anyone for it. You're a part of my life now. They accepted you once, they'll accept you again."

I take her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm, smiling against her skin, suffused with my own measure of happiness. "Whatever you do, I want this year to be what you want it to be. This is your year to take the world by storm, make it what you want. And I'll…I'll help as much as I can."

"You've helped tremendously just by coming back," she says, kissing my cheek. "I'll always wish this had all happened differently…that the last year wasn't so bittersweet. But everything that has happened, maybe it happened like it was supposed to."

"I will always regret hurting you, Rachel, but never doing any of the things I've done." I inch a fraction closer, wishing that we were doing this in the privacy of her bedroom so that I can kiss her like I want, with the depth and emotion coursing through my veins right now. But we're sitting in her front yard and I don't need one of her neighbors to call the cops—or worse, her dads. "I know I probably should considering the mess I made, but how could I possibly have any regrets when they gave me you?" I nod resolutely, touching my forehead to hers. "You're the reason I came back."

She pulls away suddenly. "I'm also the reason you dropped out of college."

"I did not drop out." I haul her back towards me, a smile in my voice. "I was going to tell you later…it's why I came by, after all."

"What?" she asks, nearly breathless with curiosity.

"I'm going back next month."

Her face falls at my announcement, her disappointment palpable. "Wow, Jesse, that's great! Los Angeles. Wow. Congratulations!"

I shake my head, amused by her fake enthusiasm. "No, Rachel, I'm not going back to UCLA. I'm staying close to home so that we can give this an honest shot."

She shakes her head. "No, I can't let you do that. I can't—"

"You're not letting me do anything." I grab the back of her neck, forcing her to look at me, needing her to understand why I'm doing this. "I've agonized over this decision and it's the right one, Rachel, not only for me, but for us." I skim my thumb tentatively across her cheek. "I just can't walk away from you yet."

"Good, because I don't think I can watch you do it again." She buries her face in the curve of my neck, her arms like iron manacles around me. I enjoy the pleasure-pain of her nails digging into my back, quick to understand that she has been expecting me to return to UCLA all this time.

I never had any intention of going back to California. My life is here—I was just too stupid and hurt to realize it last spring. A lot changes in a year and I'm surprised everyday that my feelings for Rachel haven't. If anything they only grew stronger, more tangible. I want this relationship to work, perhaps more than I want my next breath and staying to attending college close to home will give us the chance we didn't have before, the chance Shelby stole from us.

"Celebratory ice cream?" I suggest, lifting Rachel's head, pulling her to her feet.

"Only if I can buy."


	7. The Time Has Come

**Title**: An Inevitable Conclusion  
**Characters/Pairing**: Jesse/Rachel  
**Disclaimer**: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Post-"Journey"  
**Summary**: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.  
**Notes**: Two weeks since an update? I'm sorry it couldn't be helped. I had no time to write, it being my son's birthday and then having to get him ready to go back to school. Now that that's all done, hopefully I can update much more frequently from here on out. This chapter is, unfortunately, very filler. It just couldn't be helped, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

—

**07. The Time Has Come**

Ohio State University in Lima was the obvious choice, but for even more obvious reasons it wasn't the right choice for _me_. I would have loved to stay in Lima to be around Rachel, but due to the animosity between myself and my mother, I chose to transfer to the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. Sure, the commute is going to be a bitch, but it beats the long distance relationship me and Rachel would've had to endure had I decided to return to UCLA.

The weekend after I get my acceptance letter, Rachel and I take a road trip to Ann Arbor to scour for an off-campus apartment. It's too late to even contemplate moving into the dorms and since I did that last year, I wasn't prepared to do it again—or take the chance of getting saddled with a bio-chem major for a roommate. This year I want my own place, some privacy.

After three hours and half a dozen different complexes, we finally find a place in the Ann Arbor school district. It's minutes away from campus so I can walk to class if need be. As an added bonus, it's conveniently near the restaurants and shops (though I don't see fine dining and shopping sprees in my immediate future).

Once we've explored the grounds and a one-bedroom unit that Rachel and I agree is to our mutual satisfaction, we follow the manager to his office where Rachel sits beside me while I sign the nine month lease, supportive and happy, albeit a little disconcerted.

Her demeanor isn't much changed as we venture back to Lima. Rachel remains exceedingly quiet, staring blankly out the window at the passing scenery, her head propped up on her hand. I've attempted to lure her into conversation a few times, but was thwarted with one word answers and inaudible sounds that bore a resemblance to rejoinders.

Finally unable to endure her silence another moment, I reach across the console to take her hand. "Rachel, what's wrong?" I ask timidly, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze.

It takes her a long moment before Rachel turns to look at me and when she does, her eyes are not only vacant and empty of emotion, but they're glossy with unshed tears.

I pray that she doesn't start crying; it will completely undo me.

Another beat passes before she says, "It hit me that you're moving…that you're really leaving. And in my mind I knew you were, but it sunk in while you were signing the lease…"

"I'll be home on most weekends," I offer blithely, choosing to disregard the truth in what she's saying. There's no way around the fact that I am leaving, that I am moving, even if it's just a home away from home while classes are in session.

"I've become accustomed to going to your house at my own whim, to our Friday night dates."

"We can still have our dates. We just might have to move them to Saturdays."

She interrupts quickly, "It's not going to be the same and you know it."

I do know it, tightening my fingers on the steering wheel and shifting in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. "No, it's not going to be the same," I concur, "But this is better than me being in California, isn't it?"

Her sigh is weary as she nods and flings her head back against the seat. "When I pictured myself in a relationship, it was always easier than it's been. There were no eggs or blackmail plots or my boyfriend jettisoning off to another state. It was simple."

"Nothing is ever simple," I offer, my eyes darting between her and the road.

"I understand why you picked Michigan, Jesse—I would have, too, were the situation reversed—but when you said that you were staying close to home, I thought…I _assumed_ OSUL."

"OSUL was an option, if a last resort, but an option nonetheless. But Michigan…Rachel, it gives me the space from my parents that I need, yet it also affords me the luxury of staying close to you. Their musical theatre program is amazing. I could really get some recognition. I'm not psyched about being away from you, either, but I have to do this."

She covers her face with her hands for a long moment, groaning. When she takes her hands away, she says, "I'm being selfish."

"No, you're not…"

She maintains, "Yes, I am. I want you near. I want you _here_."

"So would I. I'd love to just while away the hours and wait for you to finish school. I wish I was built to just sit idly by. But I'm not. I have to think about my own future…the one that I'd like to build with you."

Her smile is slightly knowing, but it's gone in a flash, replaced with hesitance and more doubt. "It's just all happening so fast." On the heels of that statement, she declares suddenly, "I'm going to miss you." It makes me feel like such an ass for _not_ switching to OSUL, especially since the point of me switching schools in the first place was to be closer to her.

"The semester will zoom by, you'll see. I'll be back on the weekends or you could come visit me."

She grins, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks. "You and me alone in an apartment…that's inviting trouble."

I shake my head. "It's not inviting it…it's _demanding_ it," I joke, prepared for her sucker punch. Afterward, I ask sincerely, "Are you going to be okay with this?"

She nods fervently. "It's not like I have much of a choice. But yes, I'll be fine. There's just so much to contend with already—our relationship, getting booted out of glee club again and now facing this long distance thing…that's a lot of change. You know, I kinda long for the days when life was mediocre and consistent."

"You'd be so bored, you'd create drama." She scowls at me. I lift her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "They'll be begging you to come back in no time, Rachel. They're nothing without you. I'm nothing without you."

"Well, you do have a point," she concedes.

—

The following weekend Rachel helps me move into the apartment. I tried to tell her that I didn't need her help since I don't have that much to transport to Ann Arbor, but she insisted. With the rocky road that awaits us, I thought it best to either argue or refuse her.

It took us two hours to box up my bedroom. In the closet we unearthed a treasure trove of junk that I had accumulated over the years and haphazardly thrown into my closet. We found a box of sheet music that had been hidden away after I gave up the piano for show choir. I placed that particular box in the pile for Ann Arbor, hoping that I'll have time to hone my piano skills a bit more. The care bear that Rachel had won me playing Skeeball on one of our first dates was discovered in one the boxes that had been sent back from California.

Conversely, the boxes of trophies and medals from my four years in Vocal Adrenaline were once more pushed to the back of my closet and buried under a pile of blankets. Rachel had looked at me curiously as I did so, but it was her only reaction. I was thankful for it, too. Vocal Adrenaline was no longer a part of my life and to bring that box with me to Ann Arbor would be like saying that the past was still with me—and it wasn't. I was starting fresh with Rachel and a new school. That part of my life no longer mattered, even if it still crept up on me on occasion.

After the two hour drive to Michigan during which Rachel and I took turns serenading one another with songs from the radio and playing license plate bingo, we made quick work of unloading the Range Rover, Rachel (of course) leaving all the heavy lifting up to me.

Hauling the last box to the kitchen, I catch Rachel placing a picture of herself on the refrigerator, using star magnets to secure it to one of the stainless steel doors.

"What's that for?" I ask, setting the box down on the counter.

"To ward off potential boyfriend stealers," she says, sending me a grave look over her shoulder.

Grabbing her hand, I pull her to me. She comes willingly, a smile quirking her lips as I loop my hands around her waist and press a kiss to her neck. "You're all I've ever wanted, Rachel, and it took me a very long time to realize it. I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize it and I'm certainly not going to let anyone else either." Taking her face between my palms, I look deep into her eyes so that she understands every word I'm about to say. "I want _you_, Rachel. No one else will suffice."

She expels another weary sigh as she nods, toying with the buttons on my shirt. "I trust you, Jesse."

"Do you trust _us_?" She nods again and I notice that she's undone two of the buttons on my shirt.

"Is the car unpacked?"

"Yes. Thanks for the help, by the way."

"You're welcome," she says glibly, oblivious to the sarcasm lacing my voice. "What time are your dads expecting you back?"

Her shoulders roll back in a blasé shrug. "I told them we'd be back late. I led them to believe that we were unpacking as well." An eyebrow quirks in daring.

"You're telling me you don't want to unpack?" I feign a shocked expression, comprehending that her toying with my shirt buttons wasn't an anxious action, but a deliberate one.

I've kept my promise not to put pressure on Rachel for sex. She's more than willing to make out and experiment to a certain degree. I allow her set the pace, stopping when she's had enough. I take what she gives and am content with that until she says otherwise.

"Well…" I drawl, "What do you suggest we do?"

Taking my hands, she says, "Come on. I'll show you," and leads me to my bedroom.

—

Rachel's exile from New Directions is lifted the next week. Schuester had called her into his office and invited her back to the glee club, citing that her team members were a little overzealous in voting her out and had seen the error of their ways. I was happy to hear that she hadn't resorted to dramatics and gracefully accepted to resume her place.

Later, she made it clear to her team members that her personal life and who she dated was no concern of theirs, that it had no bearing on her singing ability or her loyalty to them. To my chagrin, Rachel remains perturbed that Finn still isn't speaking to her directly, but she says that one day he'll have no choice.

I'm relieved that she's got something to occupy her time as my first semester at UM kicks into gear, the first day of classes flying by in a whirlwind of new faces and long lectures. I listen attentively to my professors, though my mind often wanders to Rachel and what she is doing at that precise moment, wondering if she's thinking about me, too.

After my last morning class, I check my phone, surprised to find a missed call from Rachel, as if I summoned her from my subconscious. I frown, sad to have missed the chance to hear her voice, but perk up slightly when I see that she's left me a voicemail.

Making the trek across the quad in the direction of my apartment complex, I smile to myself and prepare to listen to her rambling message. "Hey. Hi, Jesse. I know you're probably in class…I wanted to call and wish you good luck on your first day. New school, new people…it's daunting. I'm not even sure you need my well-wishes, you being an eternal optimist and…well, _you_." As a bell rings, she quickly adds, "Call me tonight. I miss you." I catch her little sigh before she snaps her phone shut, ending the call.

At the crosswalk, I stop and wait for the go-ahead to cross. I opt out of my voicemail and close my phone, already feeling separation anxiety taking hold of me as I cross the street and continue my walk home, thinking of Rachel the entire way.

After my shower that night, I sit on my bed and dial Rachel's number, my pulse racing with anticipation as the dial tone resounds in my ear. Rachel picks up on the second ring, chiding, "It's about time! I thought you'd forgotten about me already."

"As if that's possible."

"So. Tell me, tell me. How was your first day?"

"It was fine. Boring, actually. The first day always is. Professors hand out the syllabus, tell you what you can expect for the semester and you're sent on your way."

"Bummer. I was hoping for something exciting."

I laugh softly at Rachel's preconceived notions about college. Unless you're one of those incessant partiers or join a frat, college is a mountain of debt in student loans and a lot of work and stress. She'll come to realize it herself one day.

"Sorry to disappoint. By next week I'll be knee deep in papers and projects and whatnot. Believe me, our phone calls will be a whole lot different than this one." I grab one of my textbooks from the floor, encouraging her, "Tell me about your day," as I idly flip through it.

"My day wasn't any more eventful than yours, to be honest."

"Surely something of import happened."

"Not really. Though, our assignment for glee this week is to prepare a rock/country mash-up."

"Sounds fun. Any idea what you're going to do?"

"I haven't really thought about it."

A lengthy silence falls between us, the long distance already taking its toll. "I'll be back Friday," I remind her, at a loss as to what to say.

"I'm counting the minutes."

We talk for a few moments more, whiling away the minutes with inane conversation, prolonging the inevitable. Lucky for us both Rachel is called down to dinner by her dads and abruptly ends our call, wishing me a speedy goodnight.

I'm somewhat affronted by Rachel's hasty departure, but I don't lick my wounds for long because five minutes later—just as I'm climbing beneath my sheets—I receive a text from her.

_Is it Friday yet?_

—

Returning home Friday afternoon, I'm surprised to find my mother home. Although my surprise certainly doesn't eclipse hers—since as far as they know I'm still enrolled at UCLA and therefore should be in California.

"What are you doing home?" my mother asks straightforwardly as she continues her descent down the stairs.

I toss my duffel bag at my feet and pluck up the stack of mail from the foyer table. "I missed you, too, Mom," I retort impassively, sorting through the mail, making a stack for mine.

"Must you purposefully misconstrue everything I say?"

"It is my mission in life to annoy you."

"I only meant that I assumed you were in California. Surely classes have started by now."

"I'm sure they have. I'm longer attending UCLA." I scoop up my duffel, tucking my meager stack of mail into the side pocket. I look to my mother (who is much closer than she was a few moments ago) dressed in her tennis clothes, no doubt on her way out for a lesson. Yet something else important than her own child.

"And that didn't warrant a phone call?"

"No, I didn't think it did." Just to be contrary, I sneer, "Maybe I should've left you a note."

Either my taunt goes right over her head or she blatantly ignores it. At any rate, she inquires inquisitively, "What made you switch universities?"  
I make my way toward the stairs, my mother falling into step behind me, clearly awaiting an answer. She doesn't deserve an answer, her newfound mothering too little, too late. "I wanted to be close to Rachel. And, well, UCLA happened to be way too far—it being in California and all."

"Jesse, you're too young to let a girl dictate your decisions, your life. You have years before you have to commit to one girl."

"Don't," I snap, facing her. "Don't belittle my relationship with Rachel. You don't even know her."

"I wasn't belittling it—"

"—no, you were _dismissing_ it. You have no right to give your opinion regarding my life and how I live it."

"I'm your mother."

"You gave birth to me—it's not the same thing."

She sucks in a breath, her eyes rounding, soundly affronted. "I wish you'd tell me what I did to deserve your animosity."

"Nothing, Mom. You didn't do _anything_." I circle around her and prepare to ascend the stairs. A few steps up, a hand on the banister, I turn and tell her, "I'll be spending the weekdays in Ann Arbor to attend classes, but most weekends I'll be here. If that's a problem…"

"This is your home. Of course it's not a problem. I'll be sure to make myself scarce," she says before walking away from me as she always does.

—

After my shower, I head downstairs to the kitchen to appease my growling stomach, its need for sustenance not to be disregarded. I'm rummaging through the refrigerator debating between an apple or a pudding cup when there's a knock at the back door.

I quickly snatch up an apple, biting into it as I pad on bare feet across the room. Pulling open the door, I'm surprised to find Rachel standing on the stoop, greeting me with a shy half-smile. My heart thumps against my ribcage, reminding me of just how much this girl affects me, how deep my feelings for her run.

"Hi," I say, taking a step back, inviting her inside. I'd sent her a text before I left Ann Arbor, telling her roundabout what time I'd be back in town, however, I didn't expect to see her tonight. I'm glad that she's here; because even though we've talked every day, I've missed her.

As soon as the door is closed, Rachel is in my arms, our mouths meeting in a melding of lips and tongue, our need for one another a testament to this new dividing factor of our relationship. Caught up in the moment, I drop the apple onto the floor, needing to wrap my arms around her, touch her, pressing my body intimately against hers.

Gently, I tip Rachel's chin to an angle, delving my tongue deeper into her mouth. She makes a noise in the back of her throat and all rational thought evacuates my brain, replaced by lust and want and need.

I back her up against the counter, crushing her against my chest. Rachel moans, a sound that reverberates through my entire body, inciting a fire in my blood, making me want more, more, _more_.

"I've only been gone five days…" I murmur against her mouth as Rachel's fingers slip beneath my T-shirt, touching the skin of my back, suddenly heating up my body from the inside out. I want her fingers everywhere, needing her touch more than anything.

"Too long…" comes her reply as my hands coast up her sides, my fingers circling her breast. I expect her to push my hand away, abruptly stop this madness, but she arches into my touch, gives my bottom lip a tender little nip.

As I tease Rachel's nipple to a point, a throat clears, renting the silence, our frenzied groans. It takes me a moment to register my mother's presence through the fog of lust clouding my vision. I glance over Rachel's shoulder at her, realizing that she's got my cell in her hand. "Your phone was ringing," she says, sliding it onto the kitchen table.

I don't say anything, watching over Rachel's head as my mother leaves the room sending me a scrupulous look over her shoulder. "She's gone," I whisper in Rachel's ear, my smile wide as she shivers against me.

Her head hits my chest and she mumbles into my shirt, "I am so _mortified_."

"Relax. It's not that bad," I insist, kneading her shoulders.

"Easy for you to say. You didn't have your hand up my shirt." Rachel slips out of my arms and I find myself thankful for the space, the chance to catch my breath and calm myself down. "Five more minutes and God knows what would've happened." Her face splotchy with color, she apologizes, "I didn't mean to maul you like that. I don't know what came over me."

"I'm not complaining."

"You wouldn't," she says a smile in her voice.

"To complain would make me an idiot and I am no idiot."

"No, I guess you're not."

I can sense her anxiety, that there is something bothering her, or at the very least on her mind. I touch her shoulder lightly and it's all it takes for her to launch into an explanation, no prodding required.

"I made an effort not to think about you this week," she admits as she starts to pace the floor. "I kept myself busy so that I wouldn't—taking on extra shifts at the coffee shop, alphabetizing the bookcase in the den…" She turns to look at me, her look imploring. "I missed you and it's only been a _week_. How am I to endure this for nine whole months?"

I drag her back into my arms, kissing the top of her head as she settles in my embrace, her arms circling my waist. "I know this isn't easy on you, but you know, it's no walk in the park for me, either."

"You fake it really well," she pouts.

I ease her head back from my shoulder, looking down to meet her eyes. "Because I know that this is best for both of us. Sure, the distance is going to be a trial, but we went to different schools before—"

"That is so not the same thing!" she blurts out.

"I know, but the situations were similar, you can't refute that."

She grants, "They were _a little_."

"You'd get tired of me if I was here all the time. Who wants their creepy older boyfriend hovering all the time?"

"You're not creepy."

"You'll have more time to hang out with your friends if I'm not around. I want you to enjoy your senior year. I don't want you to have to worry about keeping me entertained."

Her breath fans across my neck as she expels another disheartened sigh. "I know that this is what you have to do, Jesse, and I understand. That doesn't mean I have to like it."


	8. Never Wanted Nothing More

**Title**: An Inevitable Conclusion  
**Characters/Pairing**: Jesse/Rachel  
**Disclaimer**: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Post-"Journey"  
**Summary**: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.  
**Notes**: I'm getting a little more lax on the updates. My apologies. They'll become even more so since college starts up Monday. I've already got a jumpstart on Chapter 9, so I hopefully I can crank it out expediently.

—

**08. Never Wanted Nothing More**

I audition for a part in the theatre department's production of _Beauty and the Beast_. The flyers posted around campus are unambiguous and the possibility of performing again is an opportunity not to be missed. Plus, the promise of bonus points for scoring a part was an irrefutable boon.

I don't vie for a starring role which is what leads me to audition for the supporting role of the villainous Gaston. I've always aspired to play a villain, a character who is governed by his actions and not by heart or conscience. Unfortunately it is not meant to be as somehow I wind up getting the part of the Beast, a character that reminds me far _too much_ of myself than I would have liked.

Rachel is ecstatic when I tell her, cocking her head to the side and saying, "I can see a bit of the Beast in you," giving me a look so scrupulous that it sets me ill at ease. Initially, I am affronted by her words, but am quick to ascertain that Rachel doesn't mean any harm. It was quite galling to have myself compared with such a character by my girlfriend and I'll admit that it made me wonder if she ever saw me in that light—compassionless, unable to love, my heart cut off to the world. I have no doubt she did, considering being so was more or less a prerequisite for Vocal Adrenaline.

Rehearsal begins immediately, opening night set to take place the first Thursday in December with encores every other night for a week. It works in my favor that Rachel is presently getting ready for the fall invitational with New Directions that will either qualify or disqualify them to perform at Regionals; she doesn't balk when I decide to stay a weekend or two or four in Ann Arbor for additional rehearsals.

However, trouble awaits us as the invitational arrives and I'm unable to go like I had promised, deep into preparations for the musical. "I can't make it," I begrudgingly tell Rachel over the phone the night before the invitational, explaining, "We're in the middle of this big dance sequence and I can't get away. I'm sorry. You know I'd be there if I could."

Rachel hangs up on me and I'm so disgusted with myself for breaking a promise that I can't force myself to call her back.

When I get back to my apartment Saturday night after a grueling nine-hour rehearsal, I find the door is slightly ajar. Only mildly alarmed, I push it inward, calling out, "Hello?" It's probably just the manager checking the leak on the faucet that I had informed him of two weeks ago. Except it's not the manager at all.

Rachel steps into view from the kitchen and I have to blink twice to make sure that I'm really seeing her—that she's really here, in my apartment.

"I've been waiting for two hours," she says, tapping her foot against the linoleum, a gesture meant to show irritation. However, Rachel doesn't look irritated at all. Mildly annoyed seems more appropriate—her face pinched, her pert little nose tilted upward at a pretentious angle.

"Rehearsals ran over," I say, shucking my messenger bag, throwing it onto the sofa behind me. "What are you doing here?"

She crosses her arms and leans against the wall, offering gaily, "I'm not here. I'm spending the night at Brittany's sister's house."

"I don't follow."

Rachel steps away from the wall, her steps leisurely and unhurried. "Brittany's sister lives in Toledo and we—me, Brittany, Quinn, and Kurt—decided we'd all stay the night after the invitational." She pauses, smiling wryly. "We won by the way."

"Congratulations. I knew you would." Then, "But that doesn't explain what you're doing here. In Ann Arbor."

"I'm here because if I want to see you, clearly desperate measures have to be taken." She looks away from me, her focus averting to her feet.

Following her line of vision, I glance down at the floor…and the powder blue overnight bag at Rachel's feet that I hadn't noticed before. Suddenly understanding, a mixture of elation and trepidation fill me. As the older of us two I should be the voice of reason, but I know I won't be because she's here and I've missed her and to turn her away would be to deny myself her company and I'm not strong enough to do that—I'm not strong enough, period.

"You're staying here." It's not so much a question as an observation, a definite test of my willpower, though I'm certain that Rachel hasn't considered that—what coming here with the intention of staying overnight entails. I suspect she isn't here for _that_, her shifty eyes and her inability to stand still a dead giveaway.

"You're not rehearsing tomorrow, are you?"

I shake my head, words completely failing me. This is a bad idea—possibly the worst _ever_—but I'm far too happy to have her here to be rational. After all, we had talked about her coming to stay before—although that conversation had been more in jest, the typical inanity of the what-if scenario. The prospect was there, of course, but we both knew that her dads wouldn't have agreed. Neither of us had discussed it again because I certainly never thought it'd come to fruition.

_Never say never_.

Well, she's here now and I'm not stupid enough to send her on her way, especially considering how tenuous our relationship has been lately. By no means are we in the danger zone, on the fringe of a breakup, but our relationship has suffered from the long distance, my dedication to the musical putting an added strain.

We're in two different places and though I'm adult enough to admit to that, I'm disinclined to alter the circumstances. I have no doubt that we'll muddle through, but sustaining a relationship—any relationship, really—is much harder than I anticipated; a long distance one damn near unfeasible.

I wonder if it's fair to either of us and quite frequently than I care to admit I debate ending things before we grow to hate another. The thing that always stops me is the fact that I love her. I owe it to both of us to try, no matter how hard and impossible things get. Failing isn't an option.

"How did you even get here?" I find myself asking, bending down to scoop up her bag.

"Brittany drove me. I've been a total bitch since our conversation the other night and she suggested that if you won't come to me, I should come to you." Her look is shuttered and determined. "You never called me back."

"I didn't know what to say. You know I would've been there—" I grab her hand and pull her with me down onto the sofa, her bag falling once more to the floor.

"I know," she says a little breathlessly as she toes off her shoes, curling her legs up between us. "I'm really, _really_ sorry for being a brat. It was childish of me to hang up on you."

"Well, it wasn't very boyfriendly of me to break my promise to be there—and I do wish I could've been there to support you, Rachel. I know you would've been there for me."

She smiles weakly. "I wish you could've been, too. But I know your focus right now is school and this musical."

I nudge her chin up, forcing her to look at me. "And _you_—you forgot to say you. I know it hasn't felt like it lately, that I've been preoccupied… Not that that's an excuse, I just…I couldn't get out of rehearsal. If it hadn't been my choreography it wouldn't have been a problem."

"Well, it's your loss. We were _awesome_."

"It really is," I readily agree, caressing her knee indolently.

"And Vocal Adrenaline came in second!" she adds cheerfully, her mouth curling into a triumphant smile. "Besting them was the best victory of all."

I smile in return, unable to summon up righteous indignation for my former team. "I told you it was your year."

"It's starting to feel like it."

She sidles over closer to me, resting her head on my shoulders. "Fight over?"

"Fight over," I concur.

—

Over dinner Rachel vaguely shares with me the plans she's made after graduation which include New York, though maybe not quite as soon as she was hoping. She confesses that she hasn't heard back from any of the colleges that she's applied to and when I inquire as to which those are, she smiles slyly and says, "I can't tell you. I don't want to jinx anything."

I don't pressure her, though her flippancy has piqued my curiosity. I wonder if after all the trouble that I've gone through to move closer to her, if Rachel plans to go to college away from me. After all, if she was planning to join me in Michigan or attend OSU in Lima, wouldn't she just say so?

I'm seized by consternation the remainder of the night, retreating into my thoughts, contemplating a course of action on the off chance my assumptions are correct.

My disquiet is not lost on Rachel. As we walk home from the restaurant, my pace uneven and sluggish, she pulls me to an abrupt halt and asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I insist automatically, shrugging her hand off my arm.

"You're lying. You know, I didn't go through all the trouble of coming to see you just so that we could argue."

"Then why did you come?"

"Because I missed you, you big jerk!"

Her outburst softens me, quells my anger, my confusion. I let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over my face. "Then why won't you tell me what colleges you applied to?"

"Is that why you've been so distant?" I give her a look that is meant to convey _Yes, of course_, since voicing the words aloud and putting that insecurity out there is something I'm not prepared to do. Mostly because I'm afraid of the answer. "Why does it matter that you know?"

"I don't know. It just does."

"You didn't tell me about the colleges you applied to. You didn't even tell me that you were transferring until it was all said and done. Why do I owe you that luxury when I didn't get it myself?" I have no response—she has me there. Stepping closer, her voice dipping low, she says, "If you really think after everything we've been through that I would choose to go to college away from you…well, you're not as smart as I thought you were."

Affronted, I demand, "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"That you're a bloody idiot." She starts to walk away, muttering unintelligibles to herself as she eats up the pavement with long, angry strides.

Sprinting to catch up, I grab hold of her arm and spin her around, a nerve ticking in my jaw as I ground out, "Care to explain that?"

She pushes me away forcefully, chest heaving with the exertion from her frenzied pace a few moments ago. "I spent an entire year pining after you _while_ I was dating someone else. I took a chance that you'd break my heart again because I couldn't see my life without you in it. I came here tonight just to see you…just to be with you." She draws in a deep breath. "Is it not completely obvious?" She pauses for a beat. "I love you, you idiot."

Her words stun me because I honestly didn't think she'd say them first. I thought that particular declaration would be left to me and would come at the most inopportune moment. The words have been on the tip end of my tongue for weeks but I've been afraid to voice them for fear that she wouldn't reciprocate.

While retaining my silence, still processing her words, I feel Rachel's hand on my arm, her voice imploring, "Jesse…Say something. Say _anything_."

I bridge the few inches that separate us, wrapping my arm around Rachel's waist to pull her against me. She sucks in a ragged breath and closes her eyes. I kiss her cheek, utterly speechless. She loves me—it's a wish that I never thought would be granted. If I was apt to leave her, I'd shout my excitement from the rooftops. I press another kiss just below her ear, and whisper softly, "I love you, too, Rach."

—

I wake up Sunday, hugging the edge of my bed and freezing my balls off. Lifting my head to search for Rachel I find that I've got a crick in my neck from the odd position I've no doubt held for half the night. Glancing over at Rachel I see that she is occupying half the bed and has taken possession of all the blankets. A childish part of me wants to fight her for them, but she looks so angelic I'm loathe to disturb her. So, instead I gingerly slip out of the bed and leave her to her sleep.

I put on a pot of coffee and putter around the apartment while the coffeemaker works its magic—booting up my laptop to check my email, rinsing the dishes from last night's midnight snack of milk and cookies. I've just logged into my email when Rachel's arms wrap around my neck, her minty fresh breath tickling my ear before she presses a kiss to my neck and murmurs, "Good morning."

Turning my head, I seek her lips and mumble my own morning greeting in response. "How'd you sleep?" I ask, reaching for my coffee cup.

"Really good," she says with a stretch of her arms, her body curling like a cat. "Your bed is more comfortable than mine. Did you sleep all right?"

"I slept fine," I tell her, not completely lying, but stretching the truth a bit. I wrap my fingers around the back of my neck, which still hurts like the dickens. I think I would've been better off sleeping on the floor. At least I would've had possession of my own blankets.

"Did you give me all the blankets voluntarily or did I steal them?"

"I didn't hand them over freely," I admit, swallowing a smile in my coffee cup.

Rachel drops her head into her hands. "Oh, God." She peeks at me through her fingers. "Did you freeze?"

"Parts of me did." I slide out of my chair and cross to the coffee pot, filling a mug for Rachel adorned with Scooby Doo. I've had it forever it seems, a gift from Uncle Pat for my eighth or ninth birthday. I don't know why I packed it away to bring with me. I just know that I couldn't leave home without it. "It's no big deal, Rach. I don't think either of us is used to having someone else in our bed." I walk back to the table, handing over the cup. "Not that I minded at all."

I settle back in my chair as Rachel adds sugar and cream to her coffee and takes a sip, expelling a throaty moan. I look at her sharply and she has the presence of mind to look chagrined. "Brittany's leaving Toledo around ten—"

"We'll leave within the hour, then," I say, standing up abruptly. As I dump out the contents of my cup down the sink, I tell her, "I'm glad you came."

"Even though we didn't…?" she asks, her face flushing.

My mind turns to last night and the heavy words that were spoken between us. For a long time after those words were spoken, we remained on the sidewalk, hugging, reveling in the magic. When we finally decided that it was time we stopped loitering, we ran back to the apartment, brimming with excitement, our relationship renewed, once again shiny with promise.

Alone in my apartment, our excitement sharpened, heightened, turned into a living, breathing need to be close…to be one. We stumbled onto the sofa, limbs entwined, hands pulling at clothes with a fervor that couldn't be contained. But as I subconsciously knew she would, Rachel stopped things before they could go too far, before we made a grave mistake that we would regret in the harsh light of day.

I don't know if Rachel will ever be ready to take that step unless marital vows are involved. And even if that turns out to be the case, I love her—sex tomorrow or two years from now isn't going to change that.

"I do have a modicum of self-restraint, Rachel," I tell her, returning to the conversation. "Besides, you're worth waiting for."

She gives me an imperceptible nod before she excuses herself to go get dressed. A half-hour later we're in the Range Rover headed for Toledo.

When I pull up at the curb outside Brittany's sister's there is no one around, which I am profoundly thankful for, needing a few more minutes alone with Rachel. "Looks like we made it...with minutes to spare," I say as I shift the car into park and turn to her.

Rachel maintains her silence, staring blankly ahead. "I haven't missed this at all," she finally offers, her voice heavy with sadness.

"What do you mean?"

"Saying goodbye to you. I hate doing it every week and it was the only upside to you not being home for the last month—I didn't have to."

"Just bear with me for five more weeks, Rach." I sigh. "I should've known better to get involved with the play—"

"No, Jesse. I'm glad you're doing the play. That isn't the issue."

"What is the issue, then?"

Rachel expels a breathy sigh that I perceive as troubling. I wait for her to start in on some condescending speech that ends with, _"It's not you, it's me,"_ but what comes out of her mouth is the opposite of what I anticipated.

"The fact of the matter is, I miss you. Even when you're with me, holding my hand or playing with my hair…a little part of my heart is breaking because I know we'll have to say goodbye—it seems like it's all we do." She falls silent and I can see that she's conflicted over her next words, mulling over them internally, wondering how they'll sound verbally. Finally, she says, "Don't you see? I want to be with you all the time."

"I do see," I murmur softly. "I feel the same way."

"How is this healthy…to feel the way we do after so short a time together?"

"I think," I begin, pulling her close, "that this is perfectly healthy and that we should just stop and savor the time we do have until our circumstances change." My words fan against her cheek, soft and slow, Rachel's eyes closing. Our lips meet for a long, deep kiss—well, what would have been a long, deep kiss had Brittany not chosen that moment to tap on the window and disrupt us.

I hit the button on my window, watching the glass roll down, exchanging a look with Rachel. She's hoping Brittany would suddenly disappear, too—I can see it in her eyes.

"Hey Jim," Brittany says cheerfully.

I ignore the misnomer. "Hi Brittany. How are you?"

"Your car smells like dirt."

I'm sure that dirt doesn't smell one way or the other, but I've grown accustomed to these strange outbursts from Brittany, especially now that me and Rachel have reconciled and I am around her more often.

"Well, we should probably get going, Britt," Rachel says, grabbing the door handle. Before she climbs out, she turns back to me, giving me a quick kiss while Brittany looks on with a wide smile.

As Rachel grabs her back from the backseat, I tell her, "I'll see you Friday." I wave goodbye to Brittany and wait until the girls are back in the house before I whip the car around and go back the way I came.

—

Every year at the beginning of November my parents host a dinner party for their friends. It's a bunch of local gentry and the ladies that my mother fundraises with, most who are her fellow booster clubbers from Carmel. I'm usually gone from the house by the time people start arriving, but an errant migraine kept me bedridden all day, making me late for an escape but also for my ritual date night with Rachel.

The dinner party is in full swing when I come downstairs, straightening the cuffs of my shirt on my way to go meet Rachel. I hope to bypass my mother, darting a quick look about for her, seeing her nowhere. As I make my way toward the kitchen intending to sneak out the back door, I hear her call out my name. I stop and groan, wishing I had just jumped out my bedroom window and chanced a broken leg instead.

"Where are you headed?" she asks, meeting me where I stand at the door, my hand gripping the doorknob like a lifeline.

"To meet Rachel," I answer with a bite to my voice.

My mother grabs my arm and pulls me away from the door, steering me back toward the living room where all the guests are congregated. "Rachel can wait. There's someone I want you to see."

"Mom, I am not in the mood for you to play show and tell. Besides, I'm late as it is."

"Oh, five minutes isn't going to hurt anything."

"You don't know Rachel," I mutter as my phone vibrates in my pocket. A text message from her, I assume.

"Yes, and whose fault is that." I roll my eyes at the jab. I'll introduce Rachel to my parents when I am good and ready and with them playing such a small role in my life, I'm prepared to forestall that introduction as long as I possibly can.

"Can you not play the victimized doting mother tonight? I don't feel like dealing with your theatrics."

"Theatre is your forte, Jesse, not mine."

"You don't have many fortes, do you, Mom?"

Her fingernails dig into my arm and I know I've struck a nerve. "Behave yourself for five minutes, please."

"Whatever," I bite out, quieting as she leads me about like a dog on a leash. We stand around, my mother's eyes searching the room, a lion looking for its prey. "Who are you looking for?"

"She must have gone to the restroom," my mother says distractedly. I pull my phone out of my pocket to view my text—all three of them.

_Where are you?_

_I'm waiting._

_There's a song in my head and I'm going to sing it to you if you ever show up._

She's so catty when she's annoyed. I type up a reply as my mother declares, "Oh, there she is!"

Slipping my phone back into my pocket after assuring Rachel I'm not standing her up—though I'll just be fashionably late—I past a smile on my face and I turn toward my mother and whoever this guest is that she thinks I need to see so badly. However, my smile morphs into a frown when I see that the guest in question is Shelby. Oh, yeah, the broken leg was definitely the way to go.

"I knew you wouldn't want to leave before saying hello to Shelby," my mother says, her eyes shifting from me to her longtime friend. "He was halfway out the door, eager to go meet some girl."

I flash my mother a hard look at her referring to Rachel as "some girl." If she knew that Rachel was Shelby's daughter—she wouldn't be dismissing Rachel so carelessly.

"Hello Shelby," I say politely.

"It's been a long time, Jesse."

"Not long enough," I mutter under my breath, though only Shelby hears me, casting me a dubious look in return.

"Well, I'll let you two catch up," my mother says before she flitters away to greet more of her guests. I watch as she links arms with another woman, the two falling at once into conversation, the last thing that I want to do with Shelby Corcoran.

Shelby's the first one to break the silence, saying, "Sharon said that you're no longer at UCLA."

I nod my head. "I switched to UM in Ann Arbor."

"How do you like it?"

"Do you care?" I ask, quickly dropping the pretense. Why should I play nice to the woman that blackmailed me? Why should I be cordial to the woman that thought I wasn't good enough to date her daughter? "You got what you wanted, Shelby. You got to meet your daughter. You got your National title. You got everything that you wanted while I…I almost lost everything."

"Oh, don't be dramatic. You didn't lose anything."

"I lost the thing that mattered, thanks to you."

"Jesse, I'm sor—"

I cut her off suddenly. "_Don't_ you dare apologize," I say, surprised at the malice in my voice. "You can keep your apologies because I don't need them. You may have wormed yourself into my parents' good graces but the moment that you made me choose between Rachel and Vocal Adrenaline, you ceased to exist to me."

I glance at my mother who is watching the two of us curiously. I incline my head a fraction closer to Shelby's. "I will smile and be gracious to you now because my mother is here and this room is full of people who are watching us like we're a sideshow. But I no longer have any loyalty to you—or respect for you." I start to turn away, then spin back to face her, something occurring to me. I doubt I'll have another opportunity, so I take it now. "Tell me, Shelby…what was the point of all of it? What was the point if you had no interest in a relationship with her? Because _I_ did."

"She didn't need me, Jesse. She had plenty of people who loved her."

"Like me? Because I loved her."

"You didn't love her, Jesse. You were caught up in the act."

I feel my patience thinning, my anger amounting to something akin to rage. I take a step back to distance myself before I do something that will embarrass my mother. "Think whatever you want, Shelby, but my feelings were real—they're still real. I won't look back with regrets. Can you say the same?" I glance down at my watch to note the time. Shit. Rachel's going to kill me. "If you'll excuse me, I'm late."

I stalk off toward the front door, hearing my mother calling after me. I speed up my gait, but it's just my luck that she meets me at the door, pasting a smile on her face for her guests' sake as I pierce her with an icy glower. "What happened between you and Shelby?"

"It's none of your business."

"Of course it is. If you did anything to upset her—"

"I shouldn't even be surprised that you're taking her side. God knows you've never given a shit about my feelings, what's happened to me."

"That's not true!" She grabs my arm in an attempt to pre-empt my escape. "Talk to me, Jesse. Tell me what happened."

I shake my head, pulling open the front door as I jerk my arm from her grasp. "If you want to know, ask Shelby." I cast her another withering look. "Don't wait up," I say before I slam the door behind myself.


	9. The Trouble in Me

**Title**: An Inevitable Conclusion  
**Characters/Pairing**: Jesse/Rachel  
**Disclaimer**: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Post-"Journey"  
**Summary**: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.  
**Notes**: I am so sorry that it has taken me ten months to update this story. Forgive me?

—

**09. The Trouble in Me**

I sense Rachel watching me as I stab the vegetables on my plate with a vigor that is uncalled for. I'm unable to forget the run-in with Shelby and put it aside for Rachel's sake, if not for the evening. The woman just has a way of getting under my skin—not unlike my own mother. I don't even allow myself to ponder that particular inference.

"Did the carrots do something that I'm unaware of? Make a pass at you while I was in the restroom, perhaps?"

I look up at Rachel and notice the little smile playing at her lips. But I notice something else, too. There's an unspoken question in her eyes and I know she'll press until I assure her that everything is fine. Unfortunately Rachel is astute enough to realize that everything is not fine. The murder of the baby carrots on my plate is obvious enough. I expel a sigh as I set down my fork and push my plate away.

"Is it your mother?" she inquires.

"She's only part of it," I say with only a little reluctance. It's easy to open up to Rachel, to share with her things that I've only confided in Marshall or Uncle Pat. Sometimes I think that one day she's going to look at me with pity in her eyes and not the understanding I see reflected in them now. I don't think I could withstand Rachel looking at me pitifully. I honestly think it would completely devastate me.

"Okay. I take it that whatever has put you in such a mood is the reason you were late?" Rachel says, surveying the situation with that quick-thinking brain of hers.

"I wasn't aware that I was such horrid company," I scoff teasingly.

"You could never be horrid company. But you're not yourself, either."

I run a hand over my face and let out a loud grunt that I'm sure has attracted company. When my hand falls, Rachel is just staring at me. And she's not the only one. I notice there are a couple of tables that have looked on curiously at my strange display. "Let's get out of here," I blurt out unexpectedly to Rachel. Seeing that she has also abandoned her plate, I inquire, "Are you finished?"

"I wasn't that hungry anyway," she says, though I'm ignorant to the scorn behind her words.

I signal the waiter and pay for the check. Then, I lead Rachel out of the restaurant and outside into the fresh air that I am in desperate need of.

"I saw Shelby tonight," I confess as we walk side by side out into the parking lot. For a long moment Rachel doesn't say a thing—she just keeps walking as if she's unaffected which we both know she is not. Not when it comes to her mother.

Finally, she declares, "I surmise that it wasn't a tender reunion."

"It was not." I kick a couple of rocks in my path, my anger escalating.

"What happened?" Rachel questions gently. "Did you talk to her?"

I shake my head. "Not much. She was standing there in front of me, chatting like we were old friends and all I could think about was you and us and what she nearly did to us…what she almost cost us."

"And?"

"And she kept telling me how I felt…like she knew what was in my heart. No one knew how deep my feelings for you ran. They were my secret, my burden."

"Burden?"

Perhaps that wasn't the best turn of phrase. "You know what I mean. If I was such a bad actor duping you wouldn't have been the success it was." She gives me a sly smile, her only reaction as we revisit the past that we thought had been put to rest. I shrug my shoulders, proclaiming, "It just baffles me that she didn't find me good enough."

Rachel's smile is wan. "If it makes you feel any better, she didn't think I was good enough, either."

She moves into my arms as all the anger and resentment melts away in light of Rachel's words. She loops her arms around my waist and I press a kiss to her temple, whispering in her ear, "She didn't deserve to have you for her daughter." I lean back and meet her softening eyes. "She'll regret her choices one day. Choosing not to have you in her life will be the biggest mistake she'll ever make."

"You think so?"

I nod, cupping her cheek gingerly. "I know I regretted walking away from you."

Her head bows as she reproves, "Jesse…"

"I know it's not the same because she's your mother and you wondered about her for so long, but why should you long for a relationship with her when she isn't doing the same," I say despite the demands from the voice in my head instructing me to remain silent.

She steps away from me abruptly. "She didn't want us to be together. Surely that means she cares something for me."

"That may be true, sure. But it could be that Shelby's just a goddamn control freak."

Rachel visibly winces. I don't like hurting her, but it hurts me seeing her holding onto this dream of her mother that just isn't so. Shelby's…_Shelby_. She's like my mother in the way that she has no maternal bone in her body.

It takes a few moments for me to realize that I'm being a little overbearing and not taking Rachel's feelings into account. I take a deep breath, gather myself and readdress her, albeit with a little more sympathy to a plight that she has no control over. Shelby is her mother whether I like it or not.

"You want to believe in her because she's your mother and I get that, but from my perspective Shelby's just not worth it."

"At one point in time I didn't think you were worth it, either," she retorts.

"Touché." I start moving toward the car, listening attentively until I hear Rachel's footsteps fall into step behind me. We're both remain silent until we near the parked car.

"I understand that she hurt you, that she made you make an impossible decision, but—"

"But what?" I spin to look at her, pinning her with a merciless look. I can't even speculate as to where she's headed, what she could possibly say. Though, I do feel that an excuse for Shelby is pending and I prepare to go off like a bottle rocket.

"Do you ever think that you would have chosen the same thing… without Shelby's help?"

"What are you implying, Rachel?"

"I'm not implying anything and I'm not making excuses for what Shelby did. She had no right to interfere in our relationship, mother or not. But I think you would have chose UCLA and your scholarship no matter how you felt about me."

"No, I—" Rachel stops the lie by placing a finger over my mouth.

"We had dreams before we had each other. If the roles were reversed, don't you think I would have done the exact same thing?"

"In a heartbeat," I say automatically once her hand has returned to her side. Rachel's dreams far outreach mine so I have no doubt in my mind that had she been faced with the same decision, she wouldn't have chosen me. However, much has changed and I don't think the decision would be so cut and dry now as it was then.

"Jesse…why are you really angry at Shelby?" Rachel implores, surprising by her question.

"You know why."

"Yes, I know what you've told me, but I don't think it's the only reason."

"It's the only reason that should matter," I digress. "She made me choose between you and the life that I've dreamed of having for forever. The rest is just…it's insignificant."

I dig the keys out of my pocket and unlock the car. As I yank open the passenger side door for Rachel she pronounces, "You're angry."

"Of course I'm angry," I say, slamming the door shut once more. "I'm angry that Shelby is still coming between us after all this time. I'm angry that she was at my mother's party and that she pretended that nothing was wrong. You know I didn't even realize how upset I was with Shelby until our encounter tonight. And dammit I'm angry that she's still getting to me and ruined our evening in the process."

"She brought us together, Jesse. After all, we wouldn't have met if it hadn't been for her."

"She tried to tear us apart, too," I remind her. "We wouldn't have broken up if it hadn't been for her."

"Yes—she _tried_." Rachel steps forward and takes my hand. "We found our way back to one another, despite everything working against us, despite Shelby." She gives my hand a light squeeze. "And here we are, still together."

"Here we are," I echo. I let out a resigned sigh and turn my head to stare up at the dark sky. I don't look at Rachel as I admit, "I feel like an ass."

"Well, you know what they say: sometimes you feel like an ass, sometimes you don't."

I can't help but laugh. "That was a horrible joke," I say with a smile.

"I was trying to lighten the mood. You've been serious all night long."

"I know and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let her get under my skin that way."

"I've only ever seen your mother irritate you like this." Rachel's quiet for a long moment and is able to make the observation that I had hoped she wouldn't. "Shelby reminds you of her, doesn't she?"

I don't bother denying the fact. "There are facets of my mother in her, yes. Whenever she told me that I wasn't good enough for you…it was like hearing it from my own mother. I had heard something to that effect from her for years, whenever she cared enough to give her opinion on anything at all." I lean back against my car, Rachel sidling closer, still holding onto my hand, her grip firm and supportive.

"And what's ironic is that before you came into the picture my relationship with Shelby was maternal. She helped me secure my scholarship to UCLA, you know."

Rachel shakes her head. "I didn't know. You never told me."

"I guess I thought it didn't matter at the time. Anyway, I soon realized that I was a means to an end. She had turned Vocal Adrenaline into automatons that I really think that when she concocted her little plan it never occurred to her that I would develop feelings for you." A sudden scoff escapes my mouth. "It really showed how little she knew you."

"What do you mean?"

I straighten, leaning into her, my voice low. "You're irreplaceable, Rachel. It's the best way I can describe you. I think I knew five minutes after meeting you that I wouldn't be able to just walk away and forget you." I take a deep breath, grab her hand again and pull her towards me. "I love you and I want you to be happy and I know that a part of you will always feel incomplete without Shelby in your life. I just wish I could make it better for you."

Her smile is broad and genuine and when she kisses me I know that Shelby hasn't ruined our night at all. When she pulls back, her eyes are shining and I know instinctively that I've said something right. "You already have."

—

When I walk into the kitchen the following morning my mother is pouring herself a cup of coffee, still dressed in her robe. I glance at my watch and wonder why my mother is still in her pajamas when it's nearing noon.

"You got back late last night," she says without turning to look at me.

"I'm surprised you noticed my presence or lack thereof in the first place," I reply spitefully. I snatch an apple out of the fruit bowl and proceed to make my way to the back door, eager to escape another argument.

"Shelby wouldn't tell me, either," I hear my mother say, referring to what our argument was about last night.

"Of course she wouldn't," I mutter under my breath before meeting my mother's gaze. For the first time since I can remember she looks troubled. "Relax, Mom, it was nothing."

She sets her coffee down, giving me her undivided attention. "You didn't act like it was nothing. Jesse, if she's done something…"

"Please don't act as if you care. It's going to give you wrinkles."

She slams her palms on the counter, startling the both of us with her flare of temper. "Dammit, Jesse, talk to me."

"I don't have time for this. I'm meeting Rachel."

I reach for the door as she sneers, "God forbid you're late meeting _Rachel_." The venom in her voice makes something inside me snap.

"It might be beyond your comprehension, considering there's a hole where your heart should be, but I love Rachel. And if spending all my time with her when I'm in town bothers you, well that's just too fucking bad." She visibly winces and though I probably should apologize, I don't. I won't.

She's defeated when she asks, "Aren't you tired of being angry with me?"

"Of course I am," I'm quick to answer. "But I've been angry for so long I wouldn't know how to be anything else." I reach for the door once more, but stop when she calls out my name. I grind my teeth, wishing that I could just escape, but indulge her nonetheless.

"Are you going back to Ann Arbor today?"

I'm staggered by her concern and wonder as to why she is even as I nod an affirmative. "Yes, and I won't be back for a few weeks."

"Don't stay away on my account."

"Don't flatter yourself—it isn't about you. I'll just be busy."

She quiets, mulling over her next words. "What does Rachel have to say about that?" she asks as she lifts her cup to take a sip of her coffee.

I realize that she's baiting me, but I refuse to rise to the occasion. "She understands. She has a course load of her own to contend with."

"You're kidding yourself with this relationship. Long distance relationships rarely work."

"Maybe for other people, but me and Rachel aren't ordinary people." I catch myself quickly, annoyed that I took the bait in the end. "My relationship—my _life_—is none of your business."

"Yes. So I've learned." Her subsequent sigh is resigned. "I wish I could understand why you hate me so much."

I step outside and yank the door closed behind me after I say, "So do I."

—

The remainder of the semester flies by in a whirlwind of studying, exams and rehearsals for the musical that is fast approaching. I finish up my classes the day before full dress rehearsal, surprisingly not nervous even though my costar, Katrina, throws up backstage right before her first scene—nothing out of the ordinary, I am told later.

There's an audience of staff members and a few select students, most of whom, for one reason or another, are unable to attend the opening night performance. They whisper and snicker behind their programs until the lights flash once, twice, three times signaling that the show is about to begin.

I sweep the stage for the prologue, barking at servants to answer the door, a prelude to the pivotal spell scene. I enunciate each line, filtering raw emotion into every sentence, every last word, amused at the widening eyes of my classmates who were unaware that I could be so ghastly. I simply pretend that I'm staring down my mother, the two of us squaring off in another battle of wills. It's easy to identify with the prince since I can understand his resentment, his anger…though perhaps in a different vein.

The rehearsal is speedy and efficient. There are hardly any mistakes, merely a wardrobe malfunction here and there. Katrina nearly fell to the floor when the bodice on her dress ripped and she flashed everyone. The poor girl was mortified, but business as usual once it was repaired and we were signaled to continue by the director.

Following the final dance scene, the applause begins. Normally I would pat myself on the back and commend myself, but tonight all I long for is Rachel's opinion, her praise and critique. All I long for is Rachel, period.

I blow off a celebratory dinner with my cast mates, choosing to return home to rest for opening night. But rest I do not. Instead, I stay up late talking on the phone with Rachel, mentally counting the hours until I can see her, while wondering if I can withstand another semester of being constantly separated from her, and pondering what I am prepared to do if I can't.

—

On opening night, I'm wracked by nerves for the first time in years. I don't know why this performance has unleashed my insecurities. Maybe it's because my entire life hangs on this night's success or failure. Maybe it's because Rachel is seated in the audience awaiting my grand moment. Whatever the reason my palms are sweating and I feel like throwing up.

Waltzing to the curtain I peer out into the crowded theatre, scanning the faces until I spot the one I'm searching for. Rachel is sandwiched between Quinn and Brittany in the second row. She's wearing a red top and a beaming smile, sharing a private joke with her two friends.

They make a strange trio, but I find solace in the fact that neither of them are Finn. They've renewed their friendship, yet his name rarely falls from her lips. Why, I don't inquire. I can't summon up the vigor to care. I'm simply glad that he's part of Rachel's past and not part of her company tonight.

As the lights dim, I let the curtain fall back into position and move to take my place backstage.

—

The show concludes an hour and a half later to a round of applause. The performance was a success and I'm eager to get Rachel's opinion, whatever it may be.

I pose for the newspaper cameras with Katrina and the other leads and exchange congratulations with everyone in the production before I begin my search for Rachel. It doesn't take me long to find her since she's hiding in plain sight, seated in the lobby by herself.

I allow myself a moment to drink her in, stealing the moment for myself while Rachel is distracted playing with her phone. We've relied mostly on texts and phone calls the past few weeks due to my demanding rehearsal schedule and my inability to make it back to Lima. So seeing Rachel in person is a luxury that I can't help but revel in for a few short-lived minutes.

Rachel looks up as I approach, launching to her feet, her arms outstretched as I drag her into my arms. I don't know how long I hold her, burying my face in her hair, breathing in her earthy perfume. I want to haul her into a dark corner and kiss her until neither of us can think, but somehow squelch that desire. For now. "I'm so glad you came."

"Like I'd miss your opening night." Her fingers sift through my hair, desperately in need of a trim. "You were outstanding, by the way."

"Thank you," I say, humbled by her praise. "So, what did you think? It wasn't Broadway, but did you like it?"

She bites her lip, obviously not wanting to give her honest opinion and says a little too bubbly, "I thought it was great."

"But…?" I urge.

With a sigh, she relents, admitting, "But I do think that Belle was miscast. There was no chemistry between the two of you. It threw off your performance a little."

"I wonder if you're just saying that because you hated to see me kiss her." I'm just teasing her—I certainly don't expect her to cop to her jealousy. So I'm pleasantly surprised when she does.

"Well, there is that." I open my mouth to assure her that it was merely part of the script, but she beats me to the punch. "I know that it was for the sake of the story, but did you have to look like you were enjoying it so much?"

"I probably looked like I enjoyed it so much because I was pretending she was you."

She grins, and then leans forward to kiss me, asking after she's pulled away, "Is the real thing better?"

"Reality always is better than fantasy." I want to kiss her again, maybe a little longer, but fear that whatever I start will be upended by the arrival of Rachel's friends. I glance around for them, astounded that they haven't joined before now. "Where did Quinn and Brittany disappear to?"

"They had to take off. They have some Cheerio thing in the morning," she informs me.

I nod my head, letting this sink in. "So, it's just the two of us."

"Yep. Just you and me," she echoes, her words coming out a little shaky.

"You wanna get out of here?"

Rachel nods her assent. "I thought you'd never ask."

—

Back at my apartment, we burst through the door, Rachel's body wrapped around mine like a vine around a tree, lips meeting in rapid succession, hands on an eager quest for purchase. Kicking the door closed behind us, I push Rachel back against it, mapping her body with my hands, plundering her mouth with my tongue.

The physical distance has taken its toll, the two of us unable to keep our hands off each other since leaving the theatre. I'm not sure how far Rachel means to take this—she's the one that jumped me, after all—but I'm willing to play along, always enthusiastic for her attentions, no matter how paltry they turn out to be.

Rachel pulls away, breathlessly, putting a few feet away between us to compose herself, taking huge gulps of air as she glances at me coyly over her shoulder.

I watch, struggling for breath myself, as she kicks off her flats and turns to stare at me, as if waiting for me to take action, leaving the next step up to me. I'm about to go to her, when, all of a sudden, she leaves the room altogether. My eyes follow Rachel all the way to my bedroom, debating whether or not to follow, wondering if she wants me to.

I take a deep, shuddery breath before I follow suit, taking a chance that she simply expects me to pursue her. Inside my room, Rachel is standing in front of my stereo, tweaking buttons. I trace the line of her back, the curve of her shoulders, my entire body shaking with raw need. If she rejects me again…God, I hope I can withstand it.

"There," she declares with finality, turning around as I recognize the beginning strands of "Hello."

"Our song," I say, having thought of it as such from the very start, since that premeditated meeting in the music store. I've listened to it countless times since that meeting, replaying each second and every word, remembering it as vividly if it had happened yesterday.

"Did you know that it's the most played song on your iPod?"

I feign stupidity. "Is it? I hadn't noticed. What a happy coincidence." Rachel's facial expression says that she doesn't believe in such a coincidence, but luckily she doesn't comment on it, the air around us filled with more than a little white lie.

I sit down on the bed as Rachel sidles closer, a tad hesitant in her progression. "Are you tired?" I ask, though I have no idea why. They're not romantic words and it is obvious from the tilting of Rachel's head, the faint smile curling her mouth, that she agrees and that she finds the words amusing for some odd reason.

"Epic romance at its best," she murmurs, nudging her body between my spread knees.

"No, it's not that," I sigh, setting my hands on her hips, looking up at her.

"What is it exactly?"

"This feels wrong." I look up at her, clamping my hands on her hips to keep her from inching away like she wants. "I feel like I'm pushing the issue, that I've somehow forced you into this." I pause for a moment, debating my next words. "Is this…is this about tonight? About the show…about me kissing Katrina?"

Rachel puts her index finger over my mouth, deftly silencing me. "Don't be absurd, Jesse. This has nothing to do with anyone else besides you and me." She assures me, "I know what I'm doing. I'm ready."

An argument leaps to my lips, remembering her assurances before that she was ready those times, too, only to have her reject me at the last minute. As I open my mouth to remind her of those occurrences, Rachel whips her shirt over her head, baring her flat tummy and her breasts encased in a low-cut lacy yellow bra.

I stare at her breasts, my mouth dry, and somehow force the words, "We can't," past my lips, hoping to forestall before things progress too much further.

But Rachel takes my face between her palms, her hair falling around me, insisting, "Yes, we can. I want to do this."

"You may be, but I don't think I am," I hear myself saying.

She frowns. "I don't understand."

"I want you, Rachel. You know I do."

"But?" she prods as she retreats a couple of steps, bumping into my dresser.

We've been in this situation before countless times, our make out sessions reaching a fever pitch that we're almost powerless to stop but always manage to. But tonight…tonight is different; I can see it in Rachel's eyes. She is not going to stop me with virginal theatrics or fault her team for something that is both private and personal.

Ironically, I'm the one with the reservations.

I set her to the side and stand up, raking my fingers through my hair. I walk to the window, one hand on my hip, the other braced at the back of my neck, and look down at the quiet courtyard below.

I've thought about this moment a million times over the past two years. I've thought about the places it would happen, the speed, the multitude of encores. Christ, I just want it to be perfect. Rachel deserves perfection. I told her once that she deserves epic romance. I want that for her now that she's decided to get the deed done.

"Jesse…" I feel her fingers touch my arm.

"This will change everything," I tell her, slowly spinning to face her. I cup her cheeks, thumbs softly grazing her skin as I admit sincerely, "Rachel, I don't want to hurt you."

"Then don't reject me. Don't say no."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"I know what I'm in for, Jesse."

I expel a deep breath, nodding. "I want this to mean something. I don't want you to do this because you're scared that if you don't I'll get it from somewhere else."

"This isn't about jealousy," she snaps.

"Then what is it about?"

"It's about us. It's about me loving you and wanting to be close to you. It's about making this a real relationship." Then she implies logic that even I can't refute. "If you want me and I want you…what are we waiting for?"


	10. This Night Has Opened My Eyes

**Title**: An Inevitable Conclusion  
**Characters/Pairing**: Jesse/Rachel  
**Disclaimer**: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Post-"Journey"  
**Summary**: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.

—

**10. This Night Has Opened My Eyes  
**

I've been dying to have Rachel for almost two years and have therefore become a professional at finding alternate ways to release the tension. It's better than putting constant pressure on Rachel to do something that she's not quite ready for. Now that she's decided that this is what she wants, I can't help but feel she's doing it for me. Though I want to be mature and tell her no doing so would only do more harm than good. So, I just say yes.

My initial touch is hesitant and unsure, a testament to this decision being ripped from my hands. However, if this is what Rachel wants, well, I'm not fool enough to say no. "You're absolutely sure?" I ask, my hand falling unsteadily to her shoulder. I don't want her to regret this tomorrow. I want this to be anything but a mistake.

"I've never been surer of anything in my life," she whispers in response as she steps forward and leans closer, silently encouraging.

I meet her determined gaze, sighing in resignation. I reach for Rachel's hand, my fingers slipping around hers and, with a little more force than I intended, pull her against me. A surprised gasp slips out of her mouth which I swallow with mine, feeling her tremble as I envelop her in my arms, knowing instinctively that it's not from fear, but from excitement.

I continue to kiss her while my fingertips dance across her partially-naked back, absentmindedly toying with the hook-and-eye closure of her bra. Rachel smiles against my mouth as my fingertips traverse the column of her back, stopping at the hem of her skirt. I ease back to meet her eyes, daring her to stop me. When she doesn't, I release the row of buttons keeping it fastened, watching avidly as the black material pools at her feet in a circular heap.

We part long enough for Rachel to step free of it. It's the first time I've seen this much of her at once so I take the opportunity to take it all in, my eyes raking a leisurely stroll along her long and lean body, her feminine shape. "Beautiful," I breathe raggedly, gathering her in my arms once again, attacking her mouth once more.

A shudder suddenly wracks Rachel's body forcing me to pull back and search her face. "Are you all right?"

"Just cold."

I point out the obvious. "We could get in the bed."

"No!" she bursts out, shaking her head, looking at the bed as if it was made of nails. "No. Not that. Not yet."

I rub her arms in an attempt to warm her, murmuring, "It's okay." Pushing her hair over her shoulders, I remind her, "Rachel, we don't have to do this."

Her face hard, she insists, "I'm not chickening out."

"I didn't say that you were," I say, keeping my face blank. "I'm just saying that I'd understand."

"I don't want you to understand, Jesse."

"Then what do you want, Rachel? You'll have to get in the bed eventually, you know."

"I know. Just…_not now_."

She shivers again. With a frustrated sigh, I leave her side for a moment. I walk to the opposite side of the room and flick off the switch that controls the ceiling fan. "Better?"

Rachel meets me halfway, cheekily responding, "You fail to realize that I'm the one standing here half naked."

Eyebrow quirked, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it aside, declaring, "Easily rectified." Rachel closes the distance between us, wrapping her arms around my waist. I press a kiss to the curve of her shoulder, sliding down one bra strap, rewarded with the ratcheting of her breathing. I trail kisses down her arm as I whisper, "We'll go slow if that's what you want, if it's what you need."

Rachel doesn't say anything to the contrary, but makes a noise in the back of her throat that just drives me on. I lift her hand and place a kiss inside her palm, making a circle with the tip of my tongue. I don't know when I decide to seduce her, but by the shallowness of her breathing, I know I'm succeeding.

"Jesse?"

"Yes, Rachel?" I ask as I pepper kisses down the line of her throat, stopping to pay special attention to the spot on her neck just below her ear.

Rachel expels a throaty moan, but is still somewhat mindful enough to remember what she had wanted to say. "When were you…I mean, how long has it been…," she trails off, struggling to voice her questions in full sentences.

It doesn't take a genius to realize what she's trying to ask. I lean back to meet her gaze, recognizing the questions lurking in those soft brown eyes. I confess, "I haven't been with anyone since I returned to Lima." She nods, evidently pleased with the answer she's received, although I'm not done. "There's only been you, Rachel. Even when I was in L.A. you were all I wanted. Every girl I was with—"

"Jesse, don't," Rachel hastily interrupts.

"No, let me finish. I want you to know. I don't want you to doubt what you mean to me."

"I don't."

"Then, let me say this."

She relents with an uncertain, "All right."

I pick up where I left off. "Every girl I was with was you in some fashion. In the beginning I did my best not to notice. I disregarded the similarities. Then, I don't know…suddenly I began to notice the differences. And no one was good enough. No one was _you_. You are all I want, Rachel. I am stupidly and irrevocably in love with _you_. There are no substitutes."

A tear slips down her cheek and I curse myself for turning the moment maudlin when it should have remained as close to romantic as possible. Then Rachel says, "When I was with Finn I felt that there was something missing. It took me an awfully long time to realize that thing was you, that I was just with the wrong person and in the wrong relationship."

My eyes a little watery, Rachel swims in my vision as I bridge the distance separating us, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, burying my fingers in her hair.

Our proclamations diminish what remains of our doubts. Rachel reconnects with her bravado, tearing at the fastening on my belt with a vigor that I would find humorous in any other situation. She takes to the button and zipper on my dress pants with the same aggression, eager to have me as unclothed as her.

I reach behind Rachel and quickly undo her bra. I break our kiss long enough to slip it down her arms, Rachel giving me a surprised look.

"It's not my first time," I say, staving off further comment by preoccupying her mouth with more kisses. I flip flop our positions, taking us down onto the bed, Rachel falling atop me, her hair surrounding us like an inky black waterfall.

I pull her down, relishing the feel of her skin on mine as our lips meet again. The position must be awkward for Rachel because she starts squirming, slipping and sliding against me until I dig my fingers into her hips in an effort to forestall any further gyrations, already hard as a brick.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asks, looking down at me.

"If you don't stop moving this is going to be over before it ever gets started," I grind out.

Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. "What do you—oh." Her cheeks color. "I didn't realize."

"I'm sure you didn't." I shift Rachel's legs until they're straddling my body. When she accidentally rubs against my erection, she lets out a little gasp. I don't expect her to do it a second time, but then she does, this time on purpose. "Rachel…" Her name comes out as a groan, her virginal exploration slowly driving me mad.

Leaning forward, I bury my face in her neck as one hand curls around her breast. I tease her nipple to a point as Rachel continues her grinding motions against my dick. I'm half-mad with lust by the time that I flip Rachel to her back and snake my hand into her lacy yellow panties. She arches into my hand, moaning my name, stroked her to a fever.

Her climax comes upon her, hard and fast, surprising us both. As she fights to catch her breath, I stare down at her, enjoying the flush on her cheeks, the dazed look in her eyes. Once she's come back to herself, I ease myself back onto my haunches, slip two fingers beyond the hem of her panties and shimmy them down her legs. Rachel stares at the ceiling the entire time, refusing to look at me. It's only when I touch my fingers to her calf that her eyes meet mine, once again hesitant.

"Do you need a few minutes?" I feel compelled to ask.

She shakes her head. "No. It's okay. I'm okay."

Taking her at her word, I slip out of the bed to grab a condom from the drawer. I watch Rachel for a moment. She looks completely ill at ease, except that she won't look at me and she's now twiddling her thumbs, her anxiety apparent. I urge her to slip under the covers as I shed my boxers and sheathe the condom before joining her.

I gather her in my arms and simply hold her, hugging her against my chest to ease the apprehension plaguing her. It is Rachel that makes the first move, twisting her body until she is lying beneath me, her eyes staring up at me intently.

I take a deep, fortifying breath. "If I hurt you…"

"You won't," she says definitively.

"But if I do…" I touch my forehead to hers, nudge her nose with mine. "I think this is harder for me than it is for you," I whisper.

"Why should it be?...You've done this before."

"Yes, that's true, but never…_ever_with someone that I loved. There are expectations."

"I don't have any expectations."

"Well, you should."

"I love you, Jesse. The only expectation I have is that you love me in return."

"You know I do."

"My expectations have been exceeded then." She knots her fingers in my hair, and bringing my head down to hers, murmurs, "Kiss me, Jesse."

Obliging her, I shift slightly, my body settling into the vee of her legs. Without a second thought, I take my cock in hand and guide my way inside Rachel's body. The penetration is a slow process, Rachel's body resisting mine. "Relax," I murmur in her ear.

"I am," she insists through clenched teeth.

"If you were I'd be inside you already."

"This feels really awkward, you know."

"It won't for much longer. Now, take a deep breath." She groans a complaint but complies. I use that moment to push all the way into her, sheathing myself to the hilt. On Rachel's sharp cry I still, glancing down at her, at the shock and discomfort marring her face. "Rachel?" I question.

"I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"I am. You have to take the pain with the pleasure, right?"

"Right."

She nods her head, making a circular motion with her hand as if to say, "Continue."

Though it pains me to do so, I ease out of her body, Rachel making a small grunt in return. I give her only a second of reprieve before I slam back into her, the next small noise coming in the form of a long moan. I glance at her long enough to see her close her eyes and lick her lips. "Rach…spread your legs a little," I command.

Her eyes fly open, locking with mine. "A little bossy, aren't you?" she teases even as she obeys.

I smirk, settling more comfortably between her legs. After that words cease between us, Rachel's body lifting to meet each of my thrusts, her breasts rubbing against my chest with an erotic sway. It's been long enough for me that it won't take me long to reach a climax, but I try to prolong it as long as possible for Rachel's sake, wanting our pinnacles to coincide.

"Jesse…" Rachel gasps, her nails digging into my back, "Harder."

I do as instructed; pounding into her harder, faster, sweat beading on my forehead from the exertion. Then, suddenly, it's upon me, the warning scratching my throat. "Rachel…Rachel…I can't…I have to…"

A shrill scream emits from her mouth before her muscles contract around my cock, hastening my own climax. I gasp her name as I follow in kind, my entire body thrumming with pleasure.

The aftershocks of my climax are still echoing through my body as I meet Rachel's overcome expression. There's a dopey smile on her face that I can't help but trace with my fingertip, memorizing it.

"I'm not a virgin anymore," she muses, obviously pleased with the fact.

"No," I agree, "You're not." I touch my finger to the tip of her nose and give her a quick kiss before I slide free of her body. Rachel's wince follows me from the bed as I excuse myself to clean up. When I return she's sitting up in bed and has donned one of my shirts.

"I hope you don't mind," she says, glancing down at herself in the University of Michigan shirt.

I shake my head, handing her the warm washcloth that I brought back from the bathroom. "I didn't know if you needed this."

She takes the washcloth from me with a shy smile as I sit down beside her. "Are you okay?" I inquire, concerned by her silence.

She nods, refusing to look at me. When she does her eyes are bright with unshed tears. I swallow past the lump that has formed in throat, hoping this isn't when she says that we've made a mistake. Rachel says nothing of the sort, but leans in to kiss my cheek, whispering, "You're perfect," before excusing herself to the bathroom.

—

Lying in the bed, an arm slung behind my head, Rachel in my arms, I'm staring at the ceiling lost in thought. One particular thought is niggling at my conscience and I can't help but disrupt the quiet, gently imploring, "Rachel…?" as I idly stroke her arm.

"Hmm?" she ventures, half asleep.

It hadn't occurred to me to ask before now, but better late than never, I guess. "Where do your dads think you are?"

Rachel takes a long moment to answer. "They know I'm here."

"They do?"

She lifts her head and steadily meets my gaze, confirming, "After the last time I came without their knowledge, they made it clear that it was not to happen a second time."

"Oh."

"They didn't balk much about me coming see the play, but they weren't too keen on us having sex."

I sit up slightly. "You told them that we…that we were going to…"

"There isn't much I don't tell them." I watch as she pushes her hair behind her ears, looking down at me worriedly. "That isn't a problem, is it?"

"No, of course not," I assure her, patting her hand reassuringly. "And they were okay with you doing this?"

She nods. "They just wanted to make sure that I was doing it for the right reasons and not because I felt pressured."

"What did they say?"

"They advised me not to leave the protection up to you." I nod, even as she adds, "I've been on the pill for the last three months."

"So this wasn't a spur of the moment decision," I realize despite Rachel's early assertions to that fact.

"Didn't I tell you it wasn't?"

"Well, you have to look at it from my perspective, Rach. You tell a guy no, no, no he's gonna have his doubts when you finally say yes."

She points out, "Yes, and most guys wouldn't second-guess the yes."

"I'm not most guys," I'm forced to point out.

"Precisely what made this decision so easy."

Curious, I ask, "Now that we've...you know, are your dads going to be more lenient about you coming here?"

She cackles, "Not at all," as she climbs back under the covers.

—

We're woken in the morning by the ringing of Rachel's phone, an obnoxious tone alerting us to the call. She scrambles out of bed and into the living room where she'd left her things the night before, leaving the bed cold and empty beside me. Realizing that cuddling is probably not a possibility now, I hop out of bed, grab a shirt out of a drawer and head toward the kitchen, pulling it over my head as I walk. I put on coffee while unintentionally eavesdropping on Rachel's conversation.

"…it was fine. Yes, fine. No, I'm not going into detail. What? No, he didn't do that. What _is_that? You know what? Don't tell me, I'm probably better off not knowing. I'll call you later this afternoon. No, we do not plan on having sex all day." On that note, I poke my head into the living room, giving Rachel an intrigued look, amused when she snaps the phone shut, deftly hanging up on whomever she was talking to.

"Brittany, I gather."

Rachel nods, stuffing her phone back into her purse. "She was curious if we had…you know."

"Is there anyone you didn't tell about your little plan to seduce me?"

"You," she says with a conniving smile. "And there was no seducing."

"I think the story would be more plausible if you told everyone that you seduced me."

Rachel points out, "You've waited two years. No one would believe me that it took a little coercion to get you to have sex with me."

"Didn't it?"

"Not much." Rachel waltzes past me into the kitchen, noting the still brewing pot of coffee.

"I think Brittany's idea has some merit."

"What idea is that?" she asks, distractedly surveying the contents of the refrigerator.

"The us having sex all day idea. Lots and lots of merit," I say, slivering up behind her. I loop an arm around her waist, pulling her upright against my chest, my hand already on her breast. Biting her ear playfully, I urge, "Come on, Rach. What do you say?"

She moans, "But I'm hungry," as she shuts the door and allows me to drag her back to bed.

—

At the start of the new semester I reconcile that I'm not going to participate in a production. Remembering the toll that it took on my relationship with Rachel in the fall, I'm not prepared for a spring redux. However, when talking with my advisor she encourages me to prepare a monologue and audition anyway, pointing out that it'll look good in my transcripts when and if I decide to transfer schools, something that I have been contemplating.

I'm hesitant to tell Rachel, leery of her reaction. However, since she is preoccupied with preparations for Regionals, she doesn't balk at all when I finally tell her. She wishes me luck with the audition process and offers to run lines with me. It's an offer than I soon regret taking her up on, concluding that Rachel is the worst person I could acquire for such a venture—we'd always wind up in my bed, the lines an afterthought.

After some deliberation we agree to focus on our separate projects, even though we'll have less time for each other. We're not happy about it, but promise to make more of an effort this semester, neither of us apt to repeat the fall's slow debilitation on our relationship.

I score the part of Claudio in _Much Ado About Nothing_, a part Katrina insists that I acquired because I am so stupidly in love with Rachel. Usually I hate being transparent, but in this instance I don't mind at all. Rachel is the one thing in my life that I've done right—excluding our first go round, of course.

While Rachel is busy with Regionals, I throw myself into preparations for the play and at night when I retire to my bed, I try not to bury my face in the pillow that retains the smell of Rachel's coconut shampoo. Just two years ago I was running scared from the depth of my feelings for this girl, hating how dependent I'd become on her opinion, her voice, her smile—simply, _her_. Now I need her with me every second of everyday, and feel completely adrift when I'm not with her.

Rachel and I have discussed the future, but not the _immediate_future, what will happen once she graduates. I've thought about it (I've got a lot of time to think when I'm alone in my apartment) and though I've only got two years of school under my belt, I've been contemplating a move to New York. Being involved with a play the past two semester has merely intensified my need of performance and if I'm serious about making it on Broadway, New York is where I need to be.

I haven't mentioned my plans to Rachel yet since it all hinges on the New York Film Academy application that I submitted a few weeks ago. Regardless of the outcome, I refuse to do anything that takes me farther away from her.

I decide at the last minute to attend the Regionals competition. I've got a long weekend off from school due to a flu outbreak amongst the teaching staff and since I haven't seen Rachel for a few weeks, I drive three hours to Dayton where the competition is being held this year.

I don't seek Rachel out before the show, mostly due in part to the members of New Directions still viewing me as public enemy number one. But I know how important this is, too—whoever places scoring a spot at Nationals. I don't want to do anything that jeopardizes this opportunity for her and New Directions.

Sitting in the audience I'm forced to endure the less talented acts relieved when New Directions finally graces the stage. Rachel is dead center, sandwiched between Finn and Puck, the three of them belting out the beginning of a tender love ballad that makes me want to retch.

It's irrational, I know, but I still have residual feelings over the "Run Joey Run" debacle back from when I was attending McKinley. Being one of Rachel's many was something that I didn't want to be; even then, though it was prohibited, I wanted to be her one and only. Seeing her with other guys twists something in my gut that I don't particularly like. Even more, I understand how Rachel felt seeing me onstage with Katrina.

When Rachel breaks off into her solo I shutter my thoughts, concentrating on her—every word, every bodily shimmy and shake. I question the choice of song (as I usually do when Schuester's in charge of the final selection) but not surprisingly Rachel makes it work.

I wait until after the curtains close before making my escape, wondering if I can nab Brittany without Rachel seeing.

—

I'm sitting on her hotel bed when Rachel enters the room, her face flushed with excitement from her performance. She struggles with the reality for a moment, not believing that she's really seeing me. She pushes the door closed behind her, her room key falling carelessly to the floor, my name a whisper on her lips.

I'm unprepared for Rachel's bodily assault or the feelings that consume me as I hold her close. When I try to step free of her embrace, her arms remain steadfastly locked around my neck. "Rach…Rach…aren't you going to let go?"

"I prefer not to."

I laugh, maneuvering back toward the bed. I turn us around, falling onto the mattress, taking her down with me. Rachel winds up sprawled across me, her hair falling around us like a silk curtain. I absently toy with the strands, letting the softness sift through my fingers for a few moments as Rachel asks, "Jesse, what are you doing here?"

Pushing her hair out of her face so that I can see her, I murmur, "I missed you."

"Well, I missed you, too." She presses a quick kiss to my lips, gasping, "I'm so happy to see you," when she pulls away.

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

She gives my chest a playful smack. "I wish you'd told me that you were coming."

"I didn't know that I'd be able to. My schedule opened up at the last minute," I say, squeezing her hand.

"I don't care how you're here just that you are." Then, "How did you get into my room?" I smile, whispering the name of my coconspirator. Rachel rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath that sounds remotely like, "I'm going to kick Brittany's ass."

"Don't be mad at Brittany. I kind of corralled her into helping me."

"No, I'm not mad that she let you in here. I'm mad that she kept me downstairs for twenty minutes talking about the difference between rabbits and bunnies—that's time I could have been up here with you."

I grin at her disgruntled expression and quickly change the subject. "Have the results come in yet?"

Rachel shakes her head. "The judges are still deliberating. They'll call us down once they're done."

"So, we have some time."

"A little," she says, her cheeks flushing.

"Not for _that_," I tell her as I flip her beneath me. I stare down into her dark eyes for a moment before I fall onto the mattress beside her, gathering her in my arms. "I don't plan to maul you every time we're together, you know."

"I know. I just don't want to go downstairs looking recently tumbled."

"Recently tumbled?" I echo, amused at the turn of phrase.

"You know what I mean."

I press a kiss to her forehead. "Yes, I know what you mean." We both fall silent, for different reasons, I'm sure. I silently debate telling Rachel about my plans for New York. I haven't kept it from her on purpose; there just has never been a good time to mention it. "Hey Rach…?" I start just as the phone on the bedside table starts ringing.

Rachel darts up, crawling across the bed to answer it. "Hello? Oh, hey Britt. Okay, I'll be right down." Hanging up, she says, "The results are in," as she scrambles out of the bed. She smoothes out her dress, turning to look at me. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

I smile and shake my head. "It can wait."

Rachel nods, heading for the door. She scoops up her key card from the floor, turning back to me to ask, "Will you be here when I get back?"

"I'm not going anywhere," I confirm, _yet_ hovering on the tip of my tongue as she blows me a kiss before disappearing out the door.**  
**


	11. Break It To Me Gently

**Title**: An Inevitable Conclusion  
**Characters/Pairing**: Jesse/Rachel  
**Disclaimer**: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.  
**Spoilers/Warnings**: Post-"Journey"  
**Summary**: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.  
**Notes**: I know it has been forever and a day since I updated this story. MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES. Mothering twins is not an easy feat. It doesn't leave much time for sleeping, much less writing. But I love this fic and I don't want to leave it unfinished. So, here you go. Chapter 11. It's looong and tomorrow I'll probably regret posting this at 1am. Enjoy, darlings!

—

**11. Break It To Me Gently**

I never do wind up telling Rachel about New York. When she got back to the room that night in Dayton she's so ecstatic about placing in first that I couldn't find the words. And I wasn't going to be the bastard and ruin her night by telling her about plans that I have made without her. And then later…well, there was never _time_.

It becomes increasingly difficult for me to broach the subject of New York with Rachel again as New Directions is busy finalizing their performance for Nationals and I am once again embroiled with rehearsals for a play.

We're playing phone tag yet again, relying on simple and short text messages to stay in touch, to keep our relationship afloat. The last time we were in a room together was that night in Dayton. Several times a day my heart seizes in my chest because I miss Rachel so much. The emotion overwhelms me and makes me second guess myself about New York.

I want it. I want it more than anything I've ever wanted in my life. But am I willing to sacrifice my relationship to pursue a dream that may not pan out? It's the thought that stays at the back of my mind and it's that niggling doubt that always stays my hand when I attempt to broach the subject with Rachel during those times when we can connect for a decent conversation. Because the fact of the matter is New York, my dreams of the future…none of it means shit if I can't share it with Rachel, if she's not there to support me. I don't fail to realize that she's unable to do any of those things if I can't summon up the damn courage to discuss it with her and give her the chance to be part of my plans.

As luck would have it, my audition for NYFA coincides with the date of Nationals. I plead sick to get out of rehearsal and fly up to New York to support Rachel.

I arrange to stay at Marshall's. He's recently relocated to New York in order to take a stab at a performance career himself. He hasn't had much luck, but Marshall's way too driven not to get what he wants. Our mutual determination is what's kept our friendship alive for so long.

Marshall accompanies me to the show, insisting that he's got nothing better to do, although I know that he tags along in hopes of finally meeting Rachel. We take our seats, making small talk until the performances start. We reminisce about our years in Vocal Adrenaline, somehow bypassing Shelby's name as we do. We make plans for the future, Marshall optimistic about my audition, about my relocation to New York. Then our lighthearted conversation turns heart wrenching.

"What are you going to do about her?" Marshall hedges, the question not at all invasive, just curious.

For a moment I contemplate not answering him, but I know Marshall too well and he will merely persist until I do. "I don't know yet."

Marshall nods, accepting the answer. Or as least I thought. Because as well as I know Marshall, he knows me even better. "It's unlike you to do something without having developed some kind of strategy, a game plan."

I say nothing, choosing to focus on the closed curtains on the stage instead, my mind racing at how I can get out of this conversation. Marshall's always had the uncanny ability to read me, to know me, as best friends are wont to do. I'm already lying to Rachel by not telling her of my plans. I don't want to compound that by adding to Marshall, too. I feel Marshall watching me, but I bite my lip and maintain my silence, hoping that it will forestall further inquiry.

Marshall lowers his voice. "Are you going to propose to her?"

"What?" I burst out, garnering attention from those around us. I give them a bland smile, my mind racing, little stunned that Marshall would jump to that particular conclusion.

"You've thought about it. I can see it in your face," Marshall accuses, jabbing his finger in my face.

I grab his finger and push it away, confessing quietly, "I love her, Marshall. Of course I've thought about it." Before Marshall can say anything further, I add, "But that's as far as I got. For Pete's sake, I'm only twenty years old."

"A fact I was willing to point out."

"Don't," I warn him. "I get plenty of judgment from my mother." I take a quick look around the room, looking for nothing and no one in particular. I meet his gaze head-on, saying pointedly, "Who you're beginning to sound like, by the way."

"Bite your fucking tongue."

Amused, I feign shock as I tell him, "I thought you liked my mother."

"About as much as I'd like to be eaten by a lion," Marshall scoffs.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, thankful for the reprieve from the marriage issue. I want to marry Rachel, but I don't want to do it tomorrow. I can't see marrying anyone else, but I can't say the same for Rachel. She loves me—I know she does—but aside from Finn, Rachel hasn't freely dated. That's an option she may choose to pursue and were it to happen, I wouldn't stand in her way. I want her to choose me; not settle for me.

Taking a deep breath, I freely admit, "I haven't told even told her yet."

Marshall nods his acceptance, leaning forward until his position in his chair mirrors mine. "When do you plan on enlightening her?" he asks in a low, probing voice.

"I don't know," I shrug. "I've tried. The time is never right."

"There's never going to be a perfect time, Jesse," he points out reasonably.

I hate that he's right. "I know. But I don't want to tell her when she's distracted by something else."

"What do you hope to accomplish by telling her? What's the point?"

I shake my head ruefully. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me. I might surprise you."

"You've never had a serious relationship. How could you?"

"That's by choice, not because I'm incapable," he says, a little too defensively.

"Well, whatever the reason…" Marshall looks at me imploringly so I can't help but indulge him. "The past year…it's been rough. The long distance. Commuting between Lima and Ann Arbor. I miss her terribly whenever she's not with me and even when she is we know it's only temporary, that another goodbye is inescapable." I pin him with a serious look. "I don't want to go through that anymore. I want her with me—all day, every day. I want to go to work or class and know that at the end of the day I'm going home to her." I pause for a moment. "Do you understand?"

He nods. A long silence falls between us. Until Marshall asks the question that I've been repeatedly asking myself since January. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I have no fucking clue," I answer him as the curtains slide open and the first act kicks off the competition.

—

When New Directions takes the stage and Rachel starts belting out Michael Bublé's "Feeling Good" I'm rapt. I sit forward in my seat, watching her with hooded eyes. She's at the top of her game, strutting from one end of the stage to the other, completely in her element, sublimely confident. She shimmies and shakes, the dark red of her dress immediately putting sinful thoughts in my head.

Somehow Rachel's eyes find mine in the audience. Our eyes lock for a long moment, but the spell is broken when she crosses the stage, sidles up to Finn and starts rubbing her body against him. It's a little nerve-wracking watching her touch Finn and watch him touch her in return, the performance a little too sexy for my liking. My fingers clench the armrest as the green-eyed monster rears its head and roars loudly from somewhere deep within me. I know that it's all perfunctory with strictly choreographed steps to coincide with the song. Regardless, I still don't like it.

I only snap out of it once Finn's are no longer on Rachel and Marshall whispers in my ear, "Chill the fuck out, dude."

Later, while the judges deliberate, I find Rachel in the lobby. Amped up from her performance, she runs to me, throwing herself into my arms. I hold her tight against my chest as I twirl her around and around, whispering compliments in her ear, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. After all, we're not alone.

As I set Rachel back on her feet I notice most of her teammates are glaring at me. I haven't been forgiven for the egging incident, though I've apologized profusely to Rachel and spent a hell of a long time groveling. It doesn't matter to them that she's forgiven me. I'm glad they're so protective of her, though it's unnecessary; I don't make the same mistake twice. However, as I spy Finn lurking on the outskirts of the group, I think that the egging may be just the tip of the iceberg where I am concerned.

Looping an arm around Rachel's waist, I lead her a few feet away, eager for a moment of privacy. "What are you doing here, Jesse?" she whispers, oblivious to the glowers being directed our way from her teammates.

I smile at her, murmuring, "Like I'd miss you kicking Nationals' ass." Over Rachel's shoulder I chance a look at Marshall and find him imitating a hanged man. Had I not just flat out lied to Rachel, I'd laugh.

Luckily he stops the theatrics as Rachel follows my gaze and glances back at him. He winks and gives a little wave of his hand. I motion him over and do quick introductions, not surprised when Marshall immediately starts flirting with her. His efforts are met with indifference, Rachel unresponsive to each one of his lines. Rachel is the first woman not to fall at Marshall's feet and I take solace that she's immune to his charms.

After a few minutes trying to sway her to his favor, Marshall dejectedly leaves us alone to chat up Brittany, no doubt hoping that she'll respond to his ambitious flirtations.

Her hand in mine, I lead Rachel further away, allotting us some more privacy. "I wish I'd known you were coming. Although you're spoiling me with these surprise visits," she says, clearly happy with my presence.

"Just trying to keep a little mystery in our relationship."

She opens her mouth to question me about that particular implication but Brittany's raucous laughter begs her attention elsewhere. She folds her arms across her chest and notes, "So that's Marshall."

"That's Marshall."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Jesse, but I don't see why you're friends with him."

I fight back a smile as I tell her, "Don't count him out yet. Marshall is an acquired taste. He'll grow on you."

"Maybe," she half-heartedly agrees. "I'm glad I finally met him, at any rate."

"I'm sure he's thinking the same thing."

Suddenly a murmur sounds through the crowded lobby, attracting attention. As it reaches the members of New Directions that the results are in Rachel turns to me and squeezes my hand. "This is it. Wish me luck."

"No luck needed," I assure her. "You've got it in the bag."

**—**

I'm able to return to Lima the following weekend due to a long holiday from school. Rachel's dads are having a barbecue to celebrate New Directions' win at Nationals so I'm obligated to attend—not that I'd miss an opportunity to spend time with Rachel, especially since there's been so little opportunity for me to do so.

She's remained elusive for the majority of the morning, preparing the food spread and socializing with the guests. With the members of New Directions in attendance, I make myself scarce, taking refuge inside. I close myself off in the den, fumbling with the piano for a half hour or so until I realize that I can't hide forever, my stomach forcing me outside in search of food.

I'm cornered by Brittany as I'm digging a bottle of water out of a bucket of ice. She's got a serious look on her face as she says, "Jim, we have to talk," her voice low and cryptic.

"Sure, Brittany," I say, thinking that we're going to converse about why cats don't have floppy ears like dogs, or some inane thing like that. I start to face her, but she reprimands me quickly, pushing me back around so that my back is to her.

"No. Don't act like you're talking to me. She'll see."

"Who'll see?"

"Rachel," she whispers. Then, as if forgetting her need for secrecy, she pulls on my sleeve, forcing me to face her. I expel an exasperated breath, dizzy from her pushing and pulling. Brittany—she's a contradiction. "As you probably don't know prom is coming up. I'm sure Rachel hasn't mentioned it to you because she's a big fat scaredy pants and she thinks you'll say no."

"No, she hasn't mentioned it." I look around for the girl in question. "And why would I tell her no?"

"That's what I said!" Brittany says, much louder than either of us expected. A few heads turn in our direction—Finn's included. Unwanted attention garnered, Brittany starts backing away slowly. "Ask her. Don't mention this conversation."

"If that's what it even was," I mutter to myself as Brittany fades into the crowd.

I immediately go in search of Rachel, finally locating her in the house where she's filling a basket with bread. "Oh, hey," she says cheerily, greeting me with a beaming smile.

I lean against the counter next to her, inquiring, "Were you ever going to ask me to prom?"

Her actions slow. She doesn't look at me as she swallows hard. "How did you find out about it?"

"I overheard some girls," I lie. "Well?"

She stops fumbling with the bread to look me in the eye. "Well…you're a college guy now. I didn't think you'd want to spend a Saturday night hanging with a bunch of high school kids."

Rachel," I sigh. I snatch the bread out of her hands, placing it on the counter. Taking her by the arms, I turn her to face me, telling her, "I wouldn't be hanging with a bunch of high school kids. I'd be hanging with _you_." I reach into my pocket for my phone, extracting it as I ask, "When is it?"

"Three Saturdays from now. But Jesse you don't—"

I hold up a finger, already inputting it into my calendar. "There," I say with finality, "It's a date."

She smiles at me briefly before returning to her work. "Brittany will be surprised. She's been after me for weeks to ask you."

"You should have listened to her."

She turns to me, exasperated. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd have time."

"Rachel…"

"You can't refute the fact that you've been busy."

"And I'm not the only one," I shoot back, gently reminding her of the past several weeks as the deadline to Nationals whiled away. "Don't try to act like I'm at fault here. I'm here, aren't I?"

"You don't have to be," she spats, her back as straight as the spine of a book.

"That's not what I meant." I expel a heavy breath. I don't want to argue with her. It's the last thing I want to do when our time together is so precious. "I'm always willing to spend time with you, Rachel. I find, though, that it never seems to be enough. Even when we're together for days at a time I still want—no, _need_—more. I've been doing everything in my power to see you as often as I'm able and damn it, it's hard. But I'm trying. I'm making the effort. I wish you'd appreciate it."

Her eyes turn glossy and for a moment I hold my breath, ready for the tears to follow. But Rachel gets a hold of herself and manages to reign in her emotions. "I'm sorry, Jesse. God…I'm so sorry. I know we talked about this, about how this semester was going to go, what we were in for. I just…I hate it." She turns, folding herself into my arms. "I hate when you leave. I hate that we can't be together as much as we'd like." She sighs, murmuring, "I want this semester to be over already."

"So do I. But picking fights isn't going to make our situation any more bearable," I say, smoothing my fingers through her silky hair.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm just glad you're here."

"Me, too," I tell her, casually stroking my fingers down her back, her sides. Rachel shivers visibly, her body leaning farther into mine. I feel her fingers against my back, slipping underneath my shirt. "God," I gasp as she rakes her fingernails down my back, "I've missed you."

I back her against the cabinet, swooping down to capture her mouth with mine. The kiss is wet and greedy and before I'm aware of what I'm doing I've got my hand up her skirt, her breathy pants in my ear.

"Jesse…Jesse…"

"What, Rach? What do you want?"

"You…no, _more_…"

I grin against the column of her throat. "Well, which is it?"

"Both…" she breathes heavily.

I trace the outline of her panties and her fingernails bite into my biceps. Before I can touch her we hear the banging of the door. We both freeze and slowly turn to see who has joined us. Standing there, red-faced, is Finn. I let Rachel's skirt drop as I straighten. "I just came for plates," he says as he grabs the stack of Styrofoam plates off the cabinet. He gives us both another scathing look before he departs.

I hear Rachel's sigh in my ear. "Well, shit," she says.

"Hey, look on the bright side, honey—at least it wasn't one of your dads. Because that would've been awkward."

"Awkward?" she squeaks. "You mean, horrifying."

She snatches up the bread and leads me toward the door. "Yeah, that's what I meant."

At the threshold, she stops and turns to me. "Later?" she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I nod and let her lead me back to the party, looking forward to later.

—

I'm back in Lima three weeks later for prom, forced to stay at home much to my own chagrin. Uncle Pat's out of town for some science conference otherwise I'd be staying with him. I curse myself for giving him back his key.

My mother is nowhere to be seen all of Friday, but resurfaces Saturday when I return from picking up my tuxedo rental. She's perched on the edge of the sofa, perusing a home and garden magazine, but glances up upon my entrance.

"What do you have there?" she inquires, closing her magazine and setting it aside.

"A tuxedo," I say, indulging her, curious as to her reaction.

"For what?" she asks, rising to her feet.

"If you must know I'm escorting Rachel to her prom tonight."

I wait for her to say something scathing, surprised when she muses, "I don't even remember you going to your own prom."

"Of course you don't," I mutter, more to myself than to her.

She's silent for a long moment, her head cocked to the side, blatantly staring at me. I'm about to ask her if I've got something on my face when she asks, "Did you get her a corsage?"

I nod, a little uneasy with her mothering. "I picked it up this morning. It's in the refrigerator."

"What about dinner reservations—did you make some?"

Again, I nod. "Already made."

"You didn't get all cliché and rent a hotel room, did you?"

I nearly choke on my gum. "No," I say, though the thought had crossed my mind.

"Well, good. I hope you have fun."

I watch a little dumbfound as she slips off the sofa and begins to make her way to the kitchen. "Why do you do that?" I ask her.

She turns to face me, giving me a blank stare. "Do what?"

"Act motherly and then…"

"It's what you expect, isn't it? Jesse, were I to coddle you, you would simply do as you've always done, act as you've always acted. I've resolved myself that nothing I do will ever please you, no matter how much or how little. We're beyond redeeming."

It's a sobering statement. Glad to know that I can continue along in the same vein, treating her as I've always treated her, accepting that I'll be receiving the same treatment in return. Nothing left to say, I head for the stairs, making haste to get out of her presence, ignoring the tears stinging my eyes.

—

I arrive at Rachel's house a full half-hour before I'm supposed to. I sit with her dads in the den as we wait for her to finish dressing. As I accept a glass of water from Greg to soothe my parched throat, I try not to look too concerned upon hearing her panicked voice call from up the stairs. Greg beats a hasty retreat, leaving me alone with Leon.

Leon gives me a sympathetic look. "I'm sure everything's fine."

"Of course," I say, pulling at my collar.

"She's very excited about tonight. She got in her little head that you wouldn't want to take her. We told her she was being ridiculous, that she should just ask you. I'm glad that she finally did."

I smile thinly, taking a sip of my water, my eyes glued to the door.

"So where are you staying tonight?"

I nearly choke. Is he asking what I think he's asking? "I'm sorry?"

"Rachel tells us that you don't get along with your parents and that sometimes you stay at your uncle's. Are you staying with him?"

"Oh. No. No, he's out of town, so I'm staying with my parents."

Suddenly the air changes. I can feel it. I know I'm in for an unsettling conversation when Leon shifts in his chair and leans towards me. I steel myself and take a deep breath.

"Jesse, Greg and I are aware that you and Rachel now have a…a sexual relationship." I cringe inwardly, but nod. "And we know it's prom and that it is a…a rite of passage to, um…_you know_…We'd rather you didn't…" His voices changes. "Please don't take our baby to a motel," he begs, desperately.

"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind, sir."

Leon deflates and is glancing at me sheepishly as Greg rejoins us. Greg looks from Leon to me and chastises quietly, "Tell me you didn't!" Leon hangs his head. "We decided we wouldn't put him on the spot!" Greg hisses.

"I just wanted to be sure."

"Sure about what?"

I glance at the doorway, my throat closing. Rachel is standing there in a frothy dress the exact color of cotton candy. My mouth waters at the comparison. One shoulder is bare, the other adorned with a thin strap the same color of the dress decorated with beads that look like diamonds. Her neck is bare, her hair pulled up, a few stray tendrils left loose to fan her face. She's gorgeous.

I stumble to my feet, crossing to the room to where she stands. "You look…" I can't even find the words. I shake my head to attempt to dispel the spell that she's put on me, but I'm still transfixed. Somehow I'm able to mutter, "Beautiful," as she places her palm on my cheek and lifts my face to hers. I blush, my hand trembling noticeably as I extract her corsage from the box. I place it on the wrist, thumbing her pulse before dropping her hand.

"It's perfect," she says, grinning at me.

After we make concessions to her dads that we won't drink anything alcoholic or indulge in anything illegal, I take Rachel's hand and lead her outside where I've parked the SUV at the curb. I help her into the passenger seat before clamoring behind the wheel. Once I'm settled in my seat, I rest my head against the headrest for a moment, drinking her in. I grasp her hand, bestowing a kiss to her knuckles. "You really do look beautiful."

"If you keep on looking at me like that we're not going to make it to the dance."

I drop her hand to start the car. "You say that like the alternative is appalling."

"No, of course not. I intend for _that_ to happen later, though." She smoothes out her dress mumbling, "I don't want to wrinkle my dress."

I yank at my collar as I pull away from the curb, my body suddenly enflamed beyond belief. "Really, Rachel."

Her subsequent laugh is husky. "It's prom, Jesse, surely you didn't think you'd get through tonight with your virtue intact."

I laugh at her, pulling to a stop at a traffic light. I stretch my arm out to touch her seat. "And just where is this supposed rendezvous supposed to take place?" I watch her as she pulls a hotel card key out of her little handbag, a huge grin splitting her face. "You didn't."

She nods, replacing the card in her little beaded bag. "I did. And later we will."

When the light turns green, I press on the gas, the car lurching once more into motion. "I told your dads that we weren't going to—" I snap my mouth closed.

"Jesse St. James, were you were talking about _sex_ with my _dads_?"

Despite the darkness, I watch her face flush. "Leon didn't want me to take you to a motel. Clearly he should have had that conversation with _you_."

"It's prom. You're supposed to have sex on prom night. It's expected."

"Is it?"

"Did you have sex on your prom night?"

"That's beside the point!"

She points her finger at me. "Aha!"

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure," she says. Then, to torture me further, she adds, "Oh, I bought flavored condoms!"

—

After a quick dinner at Breadstix where we tabled the sex conversation, we headed to the dance. It was in full swing once we arrived, the dance floor filled with swaying bodies, some wound together so tightly it was as if they were one body instead of two.

I allowed Rachel to lead me to a table. I notice immediately that her teammates are seated at it, but the only one that seems the least bit happy to see me is Brittany. She immediately hauls me off to the dance floor telling me, "My date found his soul mate in the boys bathroom." I didn't know what to say to that so I let her lead me away, mouthing _I'll be back_ to Rachel.

The song the DJ was playing was fast, but Brittany insisted that we dance slow. I didn't know what other option I had but to just go along with Brittany. She talked all throughout the song, telling me that she was happy for me and Rachel even though Rachel refused to give up any sex dirt. "You make her happy, Jim," she tells me as the song draws to a close. "Make sure she stays that way."

_I endeavor to_, I think as Brittany leaves me standing alone on the dance floor. Luckily I'm not there for long, for Rachel's sliding into the spot her best friend just vacated as a slow song starts. "What didn't Brittany say that put that look on your face?" she asks as I pull her close and we begin to sway to the music.

"She said that I make you happy."

"You do."

"And that I better not fuck this up."

She gasps. "She said that?"

I shrug. "More or less." I glance down into Rachel's questioning eyes, following them to Brittany where she's engrossed in a conversation with Santana. "Have I done something to make her think that?"

Rachel winces. "No, of course not! I don't know why she said that to you. I'll talk to her."

"No, no, it's fine." She gives me a doubtful look, gnawing on her bottom lip. "Really, Rach, it's okay. She's concerned. She only did what any best friend would do," I reassure her. Silence washes over us as we continue to sway to the music, Rachel's head resting on my shoulder. "You make me happy, too," I whisper in her ear. I feel her smile against the lapel of my jacket as she burrows her body farther into mine. Two fast songs later, we're still swaying.

We take our leave after the King and Queen are announced, neither of us surprised when Finn and Quinn are awarded both titles. We're both so eager to take advantage of the room awaiting us at the hotel, that once we step out of the gym's double doors we run to the car.

Once ensconced in our room, we order room service—ice cream, slices of chocolate cake and cheesy fries—and climb into the bed to await our food. We turn on a movie and lay next to each other, enjoying being alone together, even if it's just for tonight.

"It feels like forever since we've done this," Rachel murmurs. As I absentmindedly run my fingers along her arm, I agree with a faint noise. "We've spent the majority of our relationship apart," she goes on, reflecting aloud.

"I wouldn't say the _majority_…"

"I'm jealous of the girls at school," she blurts out suddenly, garnering my attention.

I glance down at her. "Why?"

Rachel leans back a little so that she can see my face. "Because they see their boyfriends every day. Some of them pull their boyfriends into the broom closet during classes and I wish I could do that with you. It sounds silly to tell you that…" she says, blushing.

"No, it's not silly at all. I can understand wanting that. Sometimes I see couples at school…they're doing mundane things—holding hands, sitting beneath a tree talking—and I'm overwhelmed with this…want. Usually those are the times that I call you. When you get one of those I-miss-you rambling voicemails…that's why."

"I didn't know," she says, her voice catching.

I turn my body until I'm halfway draped across her. "I hate being away from you, Rachel. I miss you every damn second we're apart." I say the last with my forehead pressed against hers, my voice laced with conviction. "I love you so much that it scares the hell out of me."

Grasping my face in her hands, she lifts my head up. "Why are you scared, Jesse?"

I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. "I'm scared that it won't last. That you'll find some other bastard more worthy…someone who hasn't put you through the ringer."

"Oh, Jesse," she sighs before bringing my mouth down to hers. The kiss is so achingly soft and simple that if she were to just give me that tonight I would be satisfied. But Rachel has other plans— she said so at the start of the night.

Her tongue sweeps into my mouth as the same time her fingers start unbuttoning my shirt, the pearly buttons slipping through the corresponding slits. When she pushes it off my shoulders and her effort to undress me is upended by the shirt catching at my wrists, she growls—yes, _growls_. I laugh and come to her aid, unbuttoning the two buttons at both my wrists and shuck the shirt off, throwing it onto the floor.

I flatten my body atop Rachel, attacking her mouth as she winds her arms around my neck. Her hands don't stay still for long, moving from my neck to my back, skimming my overheated skin with long strokes. My fingers do a little venturing of their own, starting at her leg, pushing her dress up as they climb and knead, eager to find purchase.

"Jesse…" Rachel's voice breaks through the fog of lust and it takes me a long moment before I realize that she's been chanting my name for a few moments. I shake my head and look at her. "The door," she says.

I drop my head to her shoulder and sigh, realizing that our food has finally arrived. "Why the fuck did we order food?" I complain as I climb out of bed to answer the door.

I return a few moments later, pushing the food cart into the room. Stopping it a few feet shy of the television console, I look from Rachel to the food, trying to decide which hunger to satisfy first. When I snap my eyes back to Rachel she's kneeling in the middle of the bed, crooking her finger at me. "What?" I breathe, turning my body to face her fully, my body flooding with desire.

"I have something to show you," she says as I meet her at the edge of the bed.

"What's that?" I ask playfully, watching with keen interest as she reaches behind her to unzip her dress. When the bodice drops to her waist, I stare at her chest as if I hadn't ever seen a pair of breasts before. My fingers twitch at my sides. I reach out, cupping both breasts with my palms. I give them a gentle squeeze, a small squeak emitting from Rachel's mouth.

When I swoop down and take a nipple into my mouth, Rachel closes her eyes, savoring the gesture. With a swipe of her tongue against her lips, she murmurs, "We'll eat later."

Suddenly we're attacking each other, snatching at clothes, kissing as if we're starved for one another. An arm thrown around her back, I glide her down to the mattress, my other hand buried between her legs, touching her with shallow strokes that have her breaths coming in short, soft pants. She writhes and begs, touching me in kind, her small hand rubbing my erection until I'm so hard my eyes cross and I can barely see straight.

Finally when neither of us is capable of handling anymore foreplay, I don a condom and sheath myself inside her with a sharp thrust. Palm to palm, I entwine our fingers and go slower, my strokes long and deep. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her eyes open and trained on mine, Rachel comes apart, my name parting her lips on a gasp. I follow her lead with a small cry and collapse on top of her. Our breathing ragged, I press a quick kiss to her cheek before slipping out of the bed to take care of the condom. Climbing back in bed beside Rachel, I settle my body against hers and pull the blankets over us.

Sleep doesn't overtake us—hunger does. Ten minutes later we're leaning against the headboard with our previously discarded food, laughing and giggling as we feed one another, making a complete and utter mess. When I "accidentally" spill ice cream on Rachel's stomach and insist on cleaning it up with my mouth, the laughter suddenly morphs into soft moans once more.

—

After prom it becomes evident to me that I cannot keep my plans for New York from Rachel any longer. Marshall's been scouting out apartments for me, calling me when he finds "a Rachel-friendly" one. I've already booked a flight for the following week to go look at them.

Having finally received my acceptance letter from the film academy, I decide it's time. I can't put it off any longer. Arriving home, I walk into my apartment, the darkness enveloping me as I navigate my way through the room, my mind awhirl as I scroll through the contacts on my phone, searching for one in particular. I punch her name for the umpteenth time today, put the phone to my ear and wait for the call to connect. I've been calling Rachel for the last two hours, her phone continually sending me to voicemail. Now that I've resolved to tell her about my plans, it's just my luck that I can't reach her. But this isn't a conversation that just can wait. Not anymore.

With a sigh, I realize that I'm not going to talk to her tonight. When I get her voicemail again, I say after the beep, "Hey, I've been thinking about you all afternoon. We need to talk. Call me." It's only after I've disconnected that I realize how bad the message sounded. "Nothing I can do now," I grumble to myself.

Before I can draw a breath Rachel walks out of my bedroom. I'm surprised to see her, to say the least. I'm swamped with the desire to push her back into my bedroom and lose myself inside her, maybe tie her to the bedpost while I tell her about New York and beg her to bear with me…

But words fail me as Rachel's phone beeps alerting her to a new voicemail. _My voicemail_. I watch as she picks up her phone and dials her inbox, her eyes never leaving mine. A few moments later she closes her phone, curling her fingers around it. "What's going on, Jesse?" she asks, her tone accusatory.

Stalling, I say, "I'll tell you after you tell me what you're doing here."

"I missed you," she admits truthfully. Then, meeting my gaze for a brief moment, she glances down at her phone, and murmurs, "But maybe you don't miss me?"

"No, no…" I say, crossing to her. Before I can reach her, she moves away, avoiding contact. "'We need to talk'?" she mocks. "That's something you never want to hear when you're in a relationship."

"It's not what you think."

"So, you don't want to break up with me?"

"NO! God, Rachel. _No_."

She throws up her arms. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to think, Jesse?"

"Would you just please sit down?"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

I let out a labored breath. "Please? I need to tell you something and I need you to be sitting down when I tell you."

"Oh, _God_," she gasps as she falls onto the sofa.

I sit beside her and try to take her hand, but she pulls it away, balking from my touch. "Whatever you're thinking…it's not that."

"Just tell me. Just…get it over with," she demands.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, not even knowing where to start. It'll be harder if I just drag it out, so I just come out with it. "I'm moving to New York." Her eyes widen. It's obviously not what she expected. "It's something I've wanted to do for awhile. If I want to make it on Broadway, I need to be where Broadway is. I applied to a film academy…and I got my acceptance letter today."

"When?"

"When, what?"

"When did you decide this?"

I sigh and admit, "A couple of months ago. Marshall's been looking for apartments and trying to procure me a part-time job…"

"And what we're you going to do about me…about _us_?"

I shrug. "I honestly thought that we'd go on as we have been. Nothing has to change, Rachel."

She jumps up suddenly. "You're kidding me, right? This changes _everything_, Jesse. You'll be living in New York for fuck's sake."

"I want to be with you, Rachel. That hasn't changed."

"Yes, it has. _Of course_ it has. If you wanted to be with me, you wouldn't have made this decision without me. If you wanted to be with me, you wouldn't have made plans for a future that didn't include me."

I drop my head into my hands for a long moment. Neither of us speaks and she's so quiet I wouldn't be surprised to find her gone when I lift my head. But when I do she's standing there, staring at me with hollow eyes. "I didn't think all of this shit through, I'll admit it. Truth is I didn't even think I'd get accepted."

"Jesse…_please_. Don't be ridiculous. You're brilliant and talented. They'd be stupid not to take you."

I smile at her. "You humble me."

Arms crossed, Rachel glares down at me. "We had plans. I was transferring here to be with you."

"I know," I say quietly.

"Then why? Why the hell have you been making plans that didn't include me?"

I shoot to my feet. "They included you, Rachel."

I watch as Rachel taps her chin with her fingernail. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that conversation we had when you told me about this and asked my opinion on the matter," she quips sarcastically. Then, as if needing to level the field, she blurts out, "I got my acceptance to Tisch today."

She hadn't told me that she was applying to any schools in New York. "Okay," I say, feeling the need to pump my fist in the air. Suddenly everything falls into place.

"That's all you have to say?" I say nothing. Rachel deflates instantly. "Jesse, the last year has been _so hard_. I can't do this anymore. And if you move to New York…when will we see each other?"

"Every day if I have anything to say about it," I say, doggedly.

When Rachel's eyes widen, I know that she knows what I'm asking. But, apparently, she wants to hear me say the words. "What are you saying?"

Grabbing her hands, I meet her eyes dead on and plead, "Come with me, Rachel. Come with me to New York."


End file.
